


Two with One Stone

by captainofthefallen



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Carth Onasi has five heart attacks a day, F/M, Happy Ending, Wren does not let me make my own decisions, Wren just wants to get on with her life and have nothing to do with the Jedi, i should clarify, mostly - Freeform, mostly light side, plenty of angst, she does make some dark choices sometimes, she's in for it, slightly canon divergent kotor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 176,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthefallen/pseuds/captainofthefallen
Summary: The Jedi aren't heroes, but something else entirely. Wren Grua, smuggler extraordinaire, has no interest whatsoever in finding out what. Forces beyond her control, however, have decided that she has little choice in the matter.For madsthenerdygirl, because she's always telling me to post my stuff and I've finally caved.





	1. It Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madsthenerdygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/gifts).



> This has been sitting in my Google docs for so long I don't even remember what exactly started it. Something to the effect of... what if Revan's memories weren't entirely blocked, and they showed themselves as impulses and instincts? First and foremost, the knowledge that the Jedi, respected as they are by the galactic community at large, can't be trusted?  
> Edit: I'm going through to fix some formatting issues, and I realized I didn't have the character death tag on there. Nothing that can't happen in-game, but might be unexpected for a protagonist who's mostly light side.

The world shook once. Then again. Alarms blared, and the irregular sound of running feet and the occasional small explosion punctuated the steady rhythm of the warning system.

Wren Grua jerked awake as her surroundings gave another jolt. _"Damned groundquakes,_ " she growled, still half asleep as she rolled out from under her meager sheet and pushed herself onto her feet. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she looked around, took in her surroundings for a moment, then frowned. _Where am I?_ She thought for a moment before it came back to her.

 _I'm working for the Republic._ She toyed with the words in her mind for a moment. Nope, they still sounded just as ludicrous now as they had when she first accepted the offer.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door lock disengaging. She hastened to pull on her pants and was buckling her belt as the door sprang open to admit a bleach-blond man Wren had never seen before.

"The Endar Spire is under attack!" he burst out without preamble, bent over and breathing hard like he’d run halfway across the ship to get to her. "We have to get to the bridge to help Bastila!"

Wren leaned back slightly, furrowing her brow, startled at his sudden appearance. "Who are you and how far did you run?"

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "My name's Trask Ulgo. I'm your bunkmate. We work opposite shifts, I guess that's why we haven't crossed paths before. And I ran here from my post on engineering deck—I wasn’t about to leave you here to die just because no one briefed you on the lockdown codes. But no time for that now. We need to get out of here and find Bastila!"

"Bastila?" Wren frowned. "She's… the commander, right?"

"She's the one in charge of the mission," Trask confirmed. "She's with the Jedi."

Wren straightened up, alert. "The Jedi? No one mentioned them when I came on board."

Trask nodded, fidgeting in place, clearly agitated. "I know you’re a recent acquisition, command told me you haven’t been briefed yet, but the Jedi are the ones in command of this mission. And look, I know you must have more questions, but unless we get out of here this ship is going down with us on it."

Wren bit her lip. "Fine. What do we need to do?"

"The Sith have boarded the ship. Get your gear and we can fight our way through the boarders and get to Bastila!"

Wren nodded. At the mention of Jedi, it seemed like her insides had decided to tie themselves in as many knots as possible—she couldn’t have said why, but every instinct she had was repelling the very idea of them like a magnet—but she could at least fight the Sith. She’d worry about the Jedi when the time came.

She pulled on her shirt and her red leather jacket, tugging on her combat boots as quickly as she could before making sure her blaster was holstered at her side. "Ready."

"All right. The room's in lockdown, so I'll grab the door."

Wren nodded. This was apparently why he’d come after her, after all—she wouldn’t have been able to get out on her own. Not quickly, anyway. The door sprang open a few seconds later as Trask entered the code, and they'd just made it out into the hallway when the ship’s intercom crackled to life (sounding like the speakers had been hit by blaster fire) as well as both their wrist comlinks.

_"This is Carth Onasi. The Sith are threatening to overrun our position. All hands to the bridge!"_

"He's one of the Republic's best pilots,” Trask explained. “He's seen more combat than the rest of the Endar Spire's crew put together. If he says things are bad, you'd better believe it!"

Wren was already moving ahead, not bothering to wait for him. "Let's go, then, instead of standing around here! You can explain everything once we're off the ship alive."

They proceeded through the ship, eliminating any Sith troopers they came across, until one door in their path sprang open to reveal an already heated battle. Wren stopped dead, hesitating on the brink of action, torn between wanting to help an ally and wanting to avoid a Jedi at all costs.

Trask swore. "Damn. Should've guessed they'd send dark Jedi. This fight is too much for us; we'd better stay back. All we'd do is get in the way." He took cover behind the doorframe and started shooting around the intense fight, taking out a few more troopers who’d appeared from around the corner. Wren followed suit until the newcomers were all dead. They couldn’t hope to survive trying to get past the dueling Force-users, and Trask seemed to have come to the same conclusion. They stayed in cover, watching.

The Jedi woman and the Sith man appeared to be engaged in some sort of elaborate dance, their battle was so graceful. Wren made her decision. Jedi or no, she couldn’t just sit idly by. As the battlers twirled and spun around each other, she lined up her blaster discreetly, out of Trask’s view, and fired off a single shot at the Sith when she saw an opening.

The shot missed—it might have grazed the Sith, but did no noticeable damage—but it was enough of a distraction that the Jedi had an opening. She struck down her opponent with a quick slash of her lightsaber, turning at last to her recently-arrived backup.

"I thank you, soldiers," she said after a few moments of awkward pause. "I am—" She was cut off as another explosion rocked the hallway. Trask grabbed Wren to keep her upright, but the Jedi had been caught too near the blast. She collapsed. Trask rushed to her side, followed by a reluctant Wren.

The Jedi was clearly beyond saving by any normal means. Wren tried to bring herself to regret this, but all it did was make her feel safer. One less Jedi out there to… to _what_ , exactly? She still didn't know, nor could she fathom the gnawing pit that seemed to grow in her stomach every time she thought about them. But now was not the time to worry about it.

"You…" The Jedi's eyes were becoming unfocused, but they were still unmistakably looking at Wren. "Tell Bastila… she was right to bring you back…" she coughed. "...to bring you… here…" she corrected. "Tell her...there is hope."

And she died.

Trask looked at Wren, brow furrowed. "What's she talking about?"

"Hell if I know," Wren snapped a little. "For all we know, she's just talking crazy Jedi talk. Let's go."

Trask didn't ask again, didn't comment at all, in fact, until they'd reached the bridge, which was devoid of any sign of Carth Onasi or of any other Jedi. However, half a dozen Sith troopers immediately drew their weapons, and Wren was forced to draw her backup vibroblade in order to fend them all off.

When their opposition was dead, Trask turned back to Wren. "Bastila's not here on the bridge—she must have managed to get through to the escape pods. We'd better head that way too. The Sith want Bastila alive, but once she's off this ship there's nothing to stop them from blasting the Endar Spire into galactic dust!"

"Very dramatic," Wren said sardonically. "But yeah, let's go." She palmed open the next door and was preparing to turn left into what she was pretty sure was the starboard section of the ship when Trask held up his hand, moving straight across the room to another door. Wren stopped, thinking she’d gotten turned around and preparing to follow him when he spoke.

"There's something behind here."

Wren gave him a _so what?_ sort of expression, but he ignored her, moving to open the door.

"What the hell are you—?" But it was too late. The door was open, and Trask Ulgo found himself face to face with—

"Damn, another dark Jedi! I'll try to hold him off, you get to the escape pods! Go!"

As Trask charged through the door, the dark Jedi closed it again with a wave of his hand. Wren simply stood there, staring at it, at a complete loss for words, before another explosion rocked the ship and she was reminded that she was still on a ship she very much did not want to go down with.

She wouldn’t stand a chance against the dark Jedi anyway, and everyone there knew it. Trask had saved her life. Twice. And lost his own because of it.

She didn’t even know where he came from.

She shook it off. He’d have died for nothing if she just kept standing around here.

Moments after she headed through the door to the starboard section, though, she was stopped again by her wrist comlink beeping. She answered it quickly, so as not to alert any Sith in the area, and was met once again by the voice she'd heard earlier.

 _"This is Carth Onasi on your personal communicator,_ " said the voice. _"We're the last surviving crew members on the Endar Spire._ " So Trask hadn't even lasted this long. If she didn't hurry, that Sith would get out of that room and hunt her down, too. " _Now, I can't wait for you much longer. You have to get to the escape pods! But be careful. Down the hall, there's a Sith patrol. In the next room past that, there are two more, and in the room after that, there's an entire squad._ "

"One at a time." Wren gritted her teeth, leaned around the corner, and downed the Sith with a few well-placed blaster bolts. "Two in the next room, you said?" she prompted as she looted a few credit chips from the corpse and moved on.

 _"Yeah._ "

She stood to one side of the door and opened it, taking down one of the Sith before ducking into cover again. Several bolts flew past her, and she waited another moment before stepping out and shooting down the remaining Sith.

"Your armor really is crap," she muttered to the corpses as she searched them for credits.

 _"What?"_ Carth asked.

Wren jumped. She'd forgotten he was still on the comm. "Nothing," she said quickly. "You said something about a squad through the next door?"

 _"That's right,_ " he confirmed. _"You should try and find a way to thin their numbers. Like—_ "

"That droid?" Wren finished for him. "On it." She opened the panel to the assault droid's control cluster and began to work. A few minutes and a few replacement parts later, the droid was functional again. In fact, she’d flatter herself enough to say it was better than functional. She stepped to one side and opened the door, letting the droid go in first. She listened until the shooting stopped, accompanied by the tell-tale sound of a droid’s circuits shorting out, then poked her head out of cover to assess the situation. Only three Sith remained, one of them red-armored, though he seemed to have been wounded by the droid. That didn't stop him, though. The moment Wren stepped into view, he lifted his blaster rifle and fired—quite accurately—at her. The bolt struck her, only a glancing blow to the side, but still enough to cause her to hiss with pain and duck behind the wall again. _I don't have time for this,_ she thought as she pulled out a medpac and jabbed the needle into her side. Hopefully that would at least do something. If nothing else, it relieved some of the pain.

Even with the wound numbed, it took far too long to take out the remaining three troopers, and she took another hit in the process. Finally she managed to kill them all, pausing briefly to check their bodies for credits (she’d pushed her luck this long, surely it could handle an extra thirty seconds) before pressing on at the fastest limp she could manage.

She didn’t have far to go. The next room contained a very concerned-looking man in an orange flight jacket and brown pants, who rushed to her side the instant she appeared. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a look. "Yeah, fine. Just, you know, bleeding profusely. Happens all the time. Let's go."

"You're awfully quick to trust me," he remarked suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes with a frustrated grunt. "Look, if you wanted me dead, you'd have let that red bastard get me and not warned me at all."

Carth looked like he was about to argue, and Wren didn't have the patience for it. "Look," she snapped, "if we stay here arguing about it there's a 100% chance of us dying. We go, there's a 50% chance of me dying, if you do end up being untrustworthy. Well, maybe 60 or 70%, just in case I die in the crash. So let's shut up and get moving already."

That seemed to do the trick. Carth helped her into the escape pod, where she strapped herself in (trying not to let on when the straps cut into the wound in her side) and waited. Carth pressed the button to launch, and they were going, going…

 _Boom._ An explosion rocked the pod. They had escaped not a moment too soon.

_They'd escaped._

Then—

She could feel the pod impact with the atmosphere of Taris. She was aware of the pod rocking even more violently than it had in the explosion, her head was killing her, she was starting to feel uncomfortably hot, and she barely felt the jarring impact before she knew no more.

__________________________

_She was on a ship, some kind of cruiser. On the bridge, with her back to the viewport. A brief glimpse of a young woman—a Jedi—striking down one of her people with a single-bladed yellow lightsaber._

_Her people? Where did that come from?_

She didn’t have time to figure it out. In the blink of an eye, something else stirred her. A few moments after that, she was slowly regaining consciousness, the vision all but forgotten.

She felt… soft. Not luxuriously soft, but certainly soft. A… bed. Yes, that's what it was. She was lying in a bed.

_Why?_

_Because you were asleep, dumbass_ , replied the snarky voice in her head. The rest of her tried to answer the question, thinking back.

_The Endar Spire. The Sith._

Had she been captured? Were they holding her for interrogation? That wouldn't explain why she was in a semi-comfortable bed, but maybe they were trying to appeal to her better nature or some dumb thing like that.

Part of her scoffed. These were Sith she was thinking about; since when had they ever been subtle enough to appeal to someone's better nature or try and worm their way into getting information through psychology? Sith could be relied upon to use torture. She knew that from personal experience.

She did?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the confusing thoughts and focus on the here and now. She was in a bed. She remembered… crashing. Crashing, yes, that was it. She crash-landed on the planet. Maybe it wasn't the Sith at all, then. Maybe she'd been taken captive by some gang, or a crime lord, or something infinitely worse. Maybe she'd be forced to dance for a Hutt.

She shuddered at the thought and decided to answer some of her questions by opening her eyes.

The sole other occupant of the room was a man in a horrible orange jacket. Not a Sith, then. They could at least usually be relied upon to have better fashion sense than most people. A quick look around the room revealed a few things: they were in what appeared to be a small apartment, there were two beds, the man was bending over a desk with his back to her, and her blaster was at her side.

What a rookie captor, she scoffed internally. Didn't even disarm me. Quickly and quietly, she picked up the blaster and released the safety. Now for the real dilemma. Shoot him from behind before he even realized she was awake, or alert him to her presence and try to get some information out of him?

She opted for the latter, seeing as she had no idea where she was, what she was doing there, or how to get away from wherever it was. So she pointed the blaster as steadily as she could with a pounding headache, cleared her throat, and said: "Turn around, very slowly, with your hands in the air."

She saw the man stiffen in surprise—he clearly hadn't been expecting her to wake up, at least not so soon. Nevertheless, after a moment's pause, he did as she asked.

Something about his face struck a chord in her memory—was he an old enemy who happened upon her by chance?—but she kept the blaster trained on him. "Where am I?" she demanded.

"Whoa, easy there," he said. His voice was rough, but not unpleasantly so. She gestured with the blaster, indicating that she wasn't going to calm down until he answered her question. He shrugged, sighed, and said, "We're in an abandoned apartment on the planet of Taris. You were banged up pretty bad when the escape pod crashed, but luckily I wasn't seriously hurt. I was able to drag you away from the crash site and found this apartment. By the time the Sith arrived, we were long gone."

Wren's brow furrowed. "Escape pod…?"

Hands still in the air, the man nodded encouragingly. "I'm Carth Onasi, one of the Republic soldiers from the _Endar Spire_. We escaped the explosion together in the escape pod, do you remember?"

Wren continued to stare at him, not lowering her weapon, but trying to remember. The _Endar Spire_. Trask Ulgo dying for her. And—

"From...the communicator?"

He nodded again. "Between your injuries from the fight with those Sith troopers and the ones you sustained from the crash, you're lucky to be alive. I’m glad to see you up instead of thrashing about in your sleep." He blew out a breath through his nose. "You must've been having one _hell_ of a nightmare. I was, uh, I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna wake up."

"Bet you didn't think the first thing I'd do was point a blaster at you," Wren chuckled, lowering the weapon.

Carth laughed too, a little uncomfortably, lowering his hands and walking a bit nearer to her. "So… what do you remember?"

"We were… under attack, the Sith were attacking, and they'd boarded the ship. Trask came to get me, to look for someone… Ballista?"

"Bastila," Carth corrected.

"Right, Bastila. She's… what, the commander or something?"

Carth's eyes widened. "That smack to your head did more damage than I thought. Bastila's a Jedi."

Wren froze. "Did she survive?"

"I have no idea," Carth admitted. "But between her Force powers and her combat skills, I have to hope she did. She's vital to the Republic war effort."

"How can one person, even a Jedi, _especially_ a Jedi, be so important?"

"Bastila has mastered the art of Battle Meditation, a very difficult Force power that can influence entire armies into victory or surrender. The Sith must have heard she was on board the Endar Spire and set an ambush for us in this system."

"Right. You said the Sith were here? Are they on the planet looking for us?"

Carth frowned. "Yes and no. Taris is under Sith control. They've declared martial law and imposed a planetwide quarantine. But I don't think they're looking for us. If they're looking for anyone, it'll be Bastila."

"Well, if she's as amazing as you say, I'm sure she can get out on her own," Wren hastened to suggest. "We should focus on finding a way off this planet."

Carth shook his head. "Until we know if Bastila survived, and if she's all right, I'm not going anywhere. The Republic means too much to me to lose the war just because we couldn't look for a Jedi." His eyes narrowed. "Why are you so keen to get away, anyway?"

Wren's cheeks flushed a bit. "Don't like Jedi," she murmured.

Carth looked, if possible, even more suspicious. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shot back sarcastically. "Maybe it's because they can apparently turn evil at the drop of a hat and not be held responsible for their actions at all because they were being 'influenced' by the 'Dark Side'. Maybe because brilliant heroes like Revan and Malak can suddenly turn around and start conquering the galaxy. No one should have that kind of power. No one." She was making it up, of course—she had no idea why she felt so repulsed by the Jedi, but that seemed like as good a reason as any. Fortunately for her, Carth seemed to buy it.

"Well, I won’t deny you have a point," he sighed. "But for now, Bastila is our only hope, and I'd rather we find her before the Sith do. Are you in?"

Wren considered for a moment. She could strike out on her own, try to find her own way off the planet and continue to avoid any and all Jedi at all costs. At the same time, however, she didn’t want to abandon Carth. He was no Jedi, though perhaps he put too much stock in their ability to change the universe on a regular basis. Either way, he might need her help, and she'd never abandoned someone without cause before.

"I'm in," she agreed at last. "Where do we start?"

"I did a little bit of scouting around while you were out. There are reports of some of the escape pods crashing in the Undercity. We should probably start by looking there."

"Great, how do we get there?"

"Through a guarded elevator. I already checked it out—nobody who’s not in uniform gets in without security papers. We're going to need to find some way to trick our way past the guard. Just remember to keep a low profile. If we can pull this off without being noticed by the Sith, so much the better. I've heard some grim stories about Dark Jedi interrogation techniques. They say the Force can do terrible things to a mind. It can wipe away your memories and destroy your very identity. But I figure if we don't do anything stupid, we should be okay. After all, they're looking for Bastila, not a couple of grunts like us. We should be able to move around undetected if we're careful."

"Agreed." Wren paused. "If you've been keeping an eye on me and scouting all this time, you should probably get some rest yourself."

Carth shook his head emphatically. "No way. There's too much at stake here to—"

"Look, you won't do Bastila any good if you're dead on your feet," she snapped. "Sleep. If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it when I had a blaster pointed at your face and you were unarmed."

"...You've got me there," Carth admitted. "All right, but—"

"I'll be a good girl, I promise." Wren rolled her eyes.

After Carth had fallen asleep, Wren spent a little bit longer tinkering with her blaster, trying to improve it in any way she could, then she got up and crossed the room. She kept half an eye on Carth, just in case he woke up and demanded what she thought she was doing, but he seemed to be as exhausted as she'd thought he'd be.

She left a note just in case Carth woke up, opened the apartment door, closed it behind her, and set a pair of sonic mines over the entrance. If anyone got any ideas about trying to break in, they'd be greeted by a nasty surprise and Carth would surely be awakened by the results.

She needed to get out of that apartment for several reasons, not least of which was her desire to avoid going crazy and punching the walls from boredom (it wasn't likely but it had happened). For another thing, she wanted somewhat of a better plan than "try to find a way past the elevator guard." Third, she really, really wanted to play Pazaak. She had her prize deck in her bag, and hopefully she'd be able to use that to make some credits for them (most of hers had been confiscated when she joined the Republic, on suspicion of her having gained them illegally, which, granted, was probably true, at least in most cases. Still, it was annoying.)

Her third priority quickly became her first when she entered the cantina and was immediately greeted by its Pazaak den, which was conveniently (and probably strategically, now she thought about it) right by the entrance. After winning several matches and losing a couple to a man who claimed to be the best Pazaak player in the Upper City, if not all of Taris (she rolled her eyes) she stood and approached another table, sitting down without invitation. The man at the table looked up, surprised.

"You play Pazaak?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. I haven't really had enough time off to learn, or even to buy a deck. The Sith aren't really big on time off."

Wren was instantly on alert, but she made an effort not to show it. This might be the opening she was looking for. She kept her easygoing demeanor, shifting a little in her chair to cover her moment of alarm. "I've got an extra deck, if you want to learn." She stuck out her hand, thought for a moment, then introduced herself with her default cover identity. "Brenna Alric."

He visibly brightened. "Yun Genda. And yes, I'd love to!" He sobered for a moment. "Honestly I'm surprised you're even still talking to me. Most of the locals aren't too fond of us Sith."

She shrugged a shoulder. "It's your job, yeah? Can't really hold that against you. Just gotta make the best of it, you know?"

He nodded. "That is a remarkably positive attitude. One of the best I've ever encountered on this planet. And you're right, of course. I didn't ask to be assigned to this backwater planet, but I'm making the best of my situation. And it could be worse! We could have slapped a curfew on the whole planet, but we didn't. They need to learn to make the best of things, like you said!" He leaned forward on his elbows, hand openly splayed out on the table. An invitation if she'd ever seen one. Much as she had no interest whatsoever in dating a Sith, he could prove useful. As Carth had said, they'd need to sneak past the guard at the elevator, and what better way than hiding in plain sight?

She leaned forward, covering his hand with hers for a moment, and winked. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves." She allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch upward. "Now, how about that game of Pazaak?"

She taught him the game, and by the time they were done, he'd invited her to a party he was attending with some other junior Sith officers the next evening. She waved goodbye with another wink and continued further into the cantina. Might as well see what else there was to offer.

Three hours later, she returned to the apartment several hundred credits richer, and having verified her plan for getting into the Lower City. She'd stealthily observed the elevator for a while, and witnessed the guard on duty letting in patrols just by sight. So if they could find a way to get their hands on some of the armor the patrols wore, like, for instance, if she were going to a party where a bunch of junior Sith officers would have just gotten off their shifts, they should be able to get by with no difficulties. As for money, between the credits she'd won from Pazaak and the credits she'd won for fighting a few rounds in the dueling ring, she figured they'd be able to get by for a little while.

Still, it couldn't hurt to get a few more credits if they could be found. Or maybe some useful trinket or other. It was early evening, and most everyone seemed to be out and about in the streets. There was certainly no one in the hallways of the apartment complex.

Wren looked one way, then the other, and hacked open the lock of the first apartment on the left. As she had predicted, it was entirely deserted. She stole anything she could find that was small and of some value (including almost 200 credits) and went on her way. The same held true for the next apartment. The third, however, was where things got interesting.

"What are you doing here?" a voice demanded the moment she'd opened the door.

Wren adopted a wide-eyed, innocent face. "Oh! I didn't even know anyone was in here. I was just exploring," she added apologetically.

"That's no excuse! You can't just go barging into someone's home."

"You live here?" Wren blinked a few times and pitched her voice a little higher than usual, trying to keep up the innocent-and-curious appearance. "I thought mostly aliens lived in these apartments."

"Are you breaking into apartments to steal from aliens?" the woman asked incredulously. Wren shrugged noncommittally. The woman sighed. “I suppose it’s not my business. At least you're more polite than that pig, Holdan."

"Who's Holdan?"

"Just one of Davik's men who can't keep his hands to himself," the woman replied guardedly. "But all he got for his trouble was a nasty scar from my vibroblade. Too bad I'm the one still paying the price."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, sizing Wren up. Evidently she decided Wren was trustworthy, as she spoke again. "Oh, all right. I suppose you'll find out eventually anyway. My name is Dia. Holdan was making advances on me, no matter what I said, so I pulled a vibroblade on him. It got him to leave me alone, but it also embarrassed him in front of his friends. He's gone and put a bounty on my head. I've been doing my best to hide here, but I'm certain one of them will find me eventually."

"Scum,” Wren observed casually. "Not even man enough to try and take you down himself. Where is this asshat? I'll talk to him."

Dia looked shocked. "You will? I can't thank you enough! You'll probably find him in the Lower City cantina, ogling the Twi'lek dancers. I wish you the best of luck, and thank you again!"

Wren smiled and turned to go.

"Wait!" Dia called. "What's your name?"

"Wren,” she replied. “I'll be back once I've dealt with Holdan." She flashed a wave and the door shut between them.

Deciding to call an end to her thieving spree (at least for the moment) she returned to the apartment, disabled the sonic mines, and entered. Carth was still asleep, thank the stars, so she sat down at the table she'd set up as a workbench and continued to tinker with her gun.

She lost track of the time as she became absorbed in her weapon, but it didn't seem like much time passed before Carth was stirring. Wren, at this point, had her feet up on the workbench and was simply fiddling with the blaster, rather than actually doing any proper maintenance, but as Carth sat up, she took her feet down and turned to face him. "Sleep well?"

He dignified her words with a look, then proceeded to pull his boots on as she casually examined her fingernails. When he picked up his blaster and headed for the door, however, she looked up. "And where are you off to?"

"To come up with some sort of plan to get past the elevator guard," Carth replied irritably.

"Really? Then it might interest you to know that I've already taken care of it."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How?"

She snorted. "A Sith asked me on a date to a party he and a bunch of other officers are having. They, and I quote, 'won't even be going back to base to lock up their uniforms,' end quote. I see a perfect opportunity to get a bunch of Sith totally wasted and then steal their armor."

Carth scowled, probably trying to find some way for her to be wrong. Apparently he failed, as the next thing he said was, "Fine. But I'm coming too."

_______________________________

The crushed look on Yun Genda's face when Wren walked into his party with another man was priceless. Nevertheless, he rushed forward to greet her.

"Brenna! So glad you could make it! And would you care to introduce your…?" He trailed off, clearly hoping against hope that the answer would be 'brother' or something similar, though Wren and Carth looked almost nothing alike.

"My cousin," Wren assured him. "Alek, this is Yun Genda. Yun, this is my cousin Alek." She used the name they had agreed on on the way over (it had always been a favorite of hers, though she couldn't say why), as the Sith may have found records of the _Endar Spire's_ crew.

Yun brightened visibly and shook him warmly by the hand. "A pleasure. I'm so glad you both could make it. Come in, come in! Try this Tarisian ale, it's fantastic!"

"Careful, Yun!" another Sith called from the sidelines. "That's strong stuff. If we drink too much we'll all end up passed out on the floor."

Yun laughed. "Who cares? We're not on duty tomorrow anyway. Live a little, Sarna!"

Everything went according to plan: Sarna and all the other Sith took Yun's advice. Wren only had to endure a couple hours of pretending to flirt back with Yun before he was completely passed out, and the rest of them were quick to follow suit. Once she'd make sure they were all really unconscious, Wren found their backpacks lined up against the wall and started digging through them while Carth kept an eye on the Sith and the doorway.

Half an hour later, two Sith walked up to the guard at the elevator. Their leader nodded at him.

"Another patrol heading down to the Lower City, eh?" the guard asked. The leader nodded. "I don't envy you. It's nasty down there. Watch yourselves—those damn gangs will take a shot at anyone, even us!"

"We'll be careful," said an accented voice from behind the helmet, and the two-man patrol entered the elevator, preparing for the descent.


	2. Explosions Are Better than Talking

Once the door had shut behind them, Wren pulled off the helmet, making a face at it. "Ugh. Cool as that armor looks, I can't breathe in that damn helmet. Ready?"

Carth nodded, pulling off his helmet too.

"So, what intel do we have?" Wren asked, shoving the helmet in her backpack.

"The Lower City is engulfed by a huge turf war between the local gangs," Carth replied readily. "The two main groups are called the Black Vulkars and the Hidden Beks. The Vulkars are winning. They're also the ones who'll shoot anything that moves on sight."

She nodded. "Plan?"

"Check out the cantina, see if we can get any more information about the gangs, Bastila, or the escape pods in the Undercity. Find out what it takes to get to the Undercity and go there."

"Sounds good. I also need to find a guy named Holdan."

Carth regarded her suspiciously. "Why?"

Wren rolled her eyes. "I'm not starting a conspiracy to blow up the planet, I promise. I came across a woman named Dia while I was exploring. Holdan put a bounty on her head because she was defending herself from him being a perv. I’m going to convince him to remove it."

Carth seemed surprised but said nothing. They lapsed into silence for a few moments before Wren spoke again.

"Tell me about yourself."

Carth thought for a moment. "Well, I've been a star pilot for the Republic for years. Seen more than my fair share of wars. I fought in the Mandalorian Wars before all this started. But through it all I've never seen anything like the slaughter these Sith animals can unleash. Not even the Mandalorians were that senseless."

Wren opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he plowed on, oblivious. "My homeworld was one of the first to fall to Malak's fleet. The Sith bombed it into submission and there wasn't a damn thing our forces could do to stop them." He turned his face away, but Wren didn't miss the look in his eyes. This was personal. _Very_ personal. What had happened?

"You're talking like it's your fault. Like you failed somehow."

"I'm just a soldier," Carth snapped, facing the wall. "I go where the fleet Admirals tell me to. I follow orders and I do my duty. It just doesn't seem right that doing that means I failed them. I didn't!"

"You mean… your people?"

"Yes. No...I—" Carth sighed frustratedly. "No, that's not what I mean. Sorry. I'm not making much sense, am I? I'm just not accustomed to talking about my past much. At all, actually."

Silence fell between them again, but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Almost like she could feel Carth’s pain, like a tangible thing she could reach out and touch.

She couldn’t ease that pain, not when he didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, he had no reason to trust her, not that much anyway. So she opted for distraction. "So… something else you'd rather talk about?" She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms casually, propping one foot up on the wall behind her, batting her eyelashes a little.

He watched her for a few moments like he was trying to figure out what she was after. She winked. Finally his face relaxed into a smile. "I might be able to think of a thing or two, beautiful."

She smiled broadly. The distraction part was working, at least. "I like the sound of that."

"Which part?"

"What do you think?" She raised one eyebrow.

Carth chuckled, the pain in his eyes fading as he engaged in the present. "Is there something else you'd rather I called you?"

Wren looked up at the ceiling and stroked her chin thoughtfully. After several moments, she looked back at Carth mischievously. "How about 'gorgeous'?"

He laughed fully this time. "I might consider it. But what are you going to call me in exchange?"

She went back into thoughtful mode for a few seconds before looking back at him. "How about 'handsome thug'?"

"I like the first part. I'm a bit more partial to 'most handsome pilot in the galaxy,' myself."

"Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

"Well then I guess 'gorgeous' will have to do for now, won't it?" They laughed together for a few moments before Carth spoke again. "Kidding aside, though, I did have something I wanted to ask you, actually. I've been going over the battle on the _Endar Spire_ in my head since we crashed. Some things don't add up for me. Maybe you could tell me what happened, from your perspective."

Wren shrugged. "I wasn't really in a position to know what was going on. I woke up, Trask Ulgo came to get me out of the lockdown, some Jedi died in front of us but not before giving me some really weird message for Bastila, Trask got himself killed, you got me past those Sith, and we escaped the ship right before it exploded. That’s about all I can tell you."

"Hmm. Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm just trying to figure it out. I saw enough men needlessly lose their lives in the Mandalorian Wars. It's… difficult… to see it happening again."

"I can understand that."

Carth continued almost as though he hadn't heard her. "We lost the ship and a lot of good people, and for what? The hope that the Jedi powers would save us, somehow? Not that Bastila had much of an opportunity to act. We didn't choose that battle, anyway, it got forced on us. Hell, I'm just surprised that any of us are alive to talk about it." He seemed to think for a moment, then narrowed his eyes at her in the way he usually did when he was getting suspicious. "Come to think of it, it's more than a little surprising that you happen to be here, isn't it? Just what is your position with the Republic fleet anyway?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

"Nothing, I just—I just think it's a bit odd that someone who was added to the crew roster at the last second happened to be one of the survivors."

"Really. Do you. And what, exactly, does me being added at the last second have to do with my odds of survival? Do the people who sign up first have better survival odds, statistically? No, no, wait a second, priorities—are you then saying you'd rather I _hadn't_ survived?"

"Don't be ridiculous, you've more than proved yourself since the crash. I wouldn't have made it this far without you, or it would've taken me a lot longer—"

"Because Yun Genda probably wouldn't have fallen head over heels for _you_ in under ten seconds," Wren snorted.

"—I just think it's strange that someone Bastila's party specifically requested to transfer aboard just happened to survive."

Wren's foot dropped to the floor loudly. "The Jedi? Requested _me?"_   She didn't want anything to do with Jedi at the best of times, but this—

Carth nodded. "I'm not trying to be paranoid, but I learned a long time ago that something that looks like a coincidence? Probably isn't. Especially when the Jedi are involved."

Wren gave a nervous laugh. "You got that right. Are you sure we have to find Bastila?"

"Of course I'm—"

"Carth, I’m joking. I know, I know, Republic's Only Hope and all that. I get it. I just… would rather avoid Jedi as much as possible. But getting back to your conspiracy theory… are you… _possibly_ suggesting that you think _I_ had something to do with the crash?"

"No! Well… maybe. I don't know. I'm probably wrong. It's probably nothing. I just learned a long time ago not to take things at face value. And I hate surprises."

Wren let out a humorless huff of laughter. "No surprise birthday parties for you, then," she deadpanned, making a check mark on an imaginary datapad. "Are you this suspicious of everyone, or am I just the lucky winner of today's lottery?"

"No, it's not just you. I don't trust anyone, and I have my reasons." Wren opened her mouth to ask but Carth plowed on, "And no, I'm not going to discuss them, and the elevator just arrived, so can we get back to more important things?"

Wren held his gaze. "You haven't heard the last from me on this," she promised.

Carth sighed. "All right, all right, you must be the most damned persistent woman I've ever met! We'll talk about it, but later, okay? Right now, we should get going."

"That I can agree on," Wren said. "And I think we found the gang war," she added, gesturing to the two groups in haphazard uniforms who appeared to be yelling at each other. Moments later, the group on the left drew what looked like stun daggers and the fight was on.

It didn't last very long. The group on the left utterly decimated the group on the right before turning on Wren and Carth, who killed them without much difficulty. Wren holstered her blaster, crouching near the bodies. "At a guess? The ones who sucked are the Hidden Beks." She checked the bodies, retrieved a few credits from each, and led the way to the door across the street. It opened on an apartment complex similar to the one in which they had taken up residence.

Carth initially objected to Wren's tendency to break into apartments and steal things, but once she'd sliced the lock on the first one and they'd been greeted by a hail of blaster fire, he changed his tune. The Vulkars had apparently taken over most of the complex, and these ones were better armed and better defended than the ones outside. All that meant, though, was that once Wren and Carth had killed them, they took their energy shields for themselves. They approached the last apartment several hundred credits richer, with Wren wearing a new set of armor that she’d managed to get out of a lockbox in an abandoned unit.

The last apartment, however, opened on the one person in the entire building who hadn't tried to kill them on sight. Probably not a Black Vulkar then.

He held up his hands, crying out, **"Please don't kill me!"**

Wren stopped short. "What are you doing here? This place looks abandoned!" Just as abandoned as the rest of the complex, anyway.

The Twi'lek seemed to flounder for a moment. **"I—"**

Wren held up a hand. "Don't bother. Let me guess. You're one of those poor assholes Davik's placed a bounty on, and you're hiding out here in the hopes that no one will find you. Or you’re hiding from the Vulkars, but trying to hide from them in an apartment complex full of them would be a really bad move, so I’ll bet on the first one. Am I right?"

He blanched. **"How—how did you—?"**

She waved her hand. "Not to worry. Met another one just like you and I'm helping her out. So what'd you do to piss him off?"

**"My name is Matrik. I used to work for Davik,"** the Twi'lek confessed. **"After a while I didn't like what I was being asked to do, so I quit and turned state's evidence. A lot of Davik's best people got locked up, and now I've got a bounty on my head for the trouble."**

"So? What good is hiding here going to do you? No, that's a delaying tactic. There’s only so long you can survive in here with the Vulkars around anyway. You need a solution."

**"I've thought about it,"** he agreed. **"I even have a plan to fake my own death, but I can't pull it off stuck in here."**

Wren grinned. "You just got yourself an accomplice. Want me to pretend I killed you and turn in the bounty?"

**"It's a little more complicated than that,"** Matrik confided sadly. **"It needs to be in such a way that Davik believes I'm dead even if there's no body found at the scene. If it looks like I died in a huge explosion, that might do the trick, but for that I need a—"**

"Permacrete detonator?" Wren asked innocently, pulling one out of her bag.

Carth stared at her. "Have you had that in there this whole time?"

She shrugged. "Since I went out while you were sleeping, yeah. Spotted it in a shop and I like explosions as long as they’re for a good cause, so why not?"

"Of course you did," Carth replied, shaking his head.

"What?" Wren snapped. "Did you think it was part of my evil scheme to destroy the planet or something?"

"Would you calm down for five minutes?" he shot back. "I know you're not trying to destroy the planet, okay?"

"Okay, well some other evil scheme then. Murdering babies or killing Bastila or stabbing you in the back. That's what you're expecting, right?"

Matrik effectively ended the argument by clearing his throat loudly and accepting the detonator from Wren. Wren glared at Carth briefly and let it go. For the moment.

While Matrik set up the detonator, Wren took the opportunity to loot the room, finding some credits and a couple grenades which she hastily stuffed in her backpack. Matrik probably wouldn't miss them. Right?

Soon he was ready. He directed both of them to stand out in the hallway, a safe distance from the apartment. Then he set off the detonator.

The explosion was spectacular. There was a deafening _boom_ , a flash of blinding light, and when they returned to assess the damage they found Matrik's apartment collapsed in on itself. What was left was in flames. Wren was grinning.

**"I can't thank you enough for helping me!"** Matrik exclaimed.

Wren shot him a sly grin. "Dead men don't talk," she said. "I'll be sure to tell the guy in the bounty office that I set off that beautiful explosion that killed you."

**"Thank you and good luck!"** Matrik called back as he raced off.

Wren watched him go, still smiling. “Shall we find the cantina then?”

Carth eyed her for a moment. “You’re awfully chipper.”

Her grin widened. “I know. That was really a top notch explosion. Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m not planning to blow up any planets just because it would look cool. Come on,” she said before he had a chance to respond. “We’ve got a cantina to find.”

The next door they reached was guarded by a Rodian.

"Is this the cantina?" she asked.

**"No causing trouble in cantina!"** the Rodian exclaimed.

"…I'll take that as a yes," Wren said, and opened the door.

She was greeted by an… _unusual_ (hopefully) spectacle. A short man in a… very loud blue coat, complete with goggles, was being confronted by three Black Vulkars. She couldn't hear what was being said at first, but the man looked irritated. As she approached, she began to understand why.

**"This guy's nothing but a runt!"** one of the Twi'leks was saying.

"One," said the man.

One of the Rodians butted in mockingly. **"One? What that mean? You be funny, tough guy?"**

"Two."

**"Me no understand. One? Two? Why he count? He trying to count how many of us is against him?"**

**"It's three against one, Calo,"** said the Twi'lek. **"What do you think of those odds, eh?"**

Wren rolled her eyes. _Idiots._

"Three." A split second after he said the number, there was a blinding flash, and several blaster shots echoed through the cantina. On instinct, Wren grabbed Carth's arm and yanked him to the left, despite still being completely blinded. She felt him shift to grip her arm. "How did you do that?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"I felt that shot go past me. If you hadn't grabbed me, it would've hit me."

Wren shrugged, trying to disguise her own astonishment. "Good instincts, I guess? Lots of practice."

"Right…"

She blinked several times, and slowly her vision began to return to normal. The man in the blue coat, Calo, had made his way toward the exit and was leaving the cantina. The rest of the patrons were completely ignoring the three dead bodies in the middle of the floor, so Wren made her way over and proceeded to loot their credits.

"You have no shame," Carth commented.

"None whatsoever," Wren agreed cheerfully.

"I _told_ you to leave me alone, so give me some space, bug-eye! Your breath smells like bantha poo-doo!" The voice carried across the cantina from the other side of the bar. Wren looked at Carth, raised an eyebrow, then headed over to investigate.

She was just in time to hear the Rodian's response: **"Little girl should not be in bar. Bar no place for little girl."**

"Who you callin' little girl, chuba-face?" the Twi'lek girl demanded, hands on her hips, getting into the guy’s face, rising up on the balls of her feet a little bit like she was trying to seem as tall as she could.

The Rodian appeared to take offense to this. For some reason. **"Little girl needs a lesson in manners!"**

The Twi'lek rolled her eyes, rolling back onto her heels. "Just a sec boys. Zaalbar? A little help here? I need you to rip the legs off some insects."

**"Mission, I'm busy. They just brought my food!"** The protest came from a table by the wall, where a Wookiee sat alone with a gigantic plate of food.

Mission rolled her eyes. "Stop complaining, you can finish eating later! Besides, you need the exercise, so get over here!"

The Wookiee reluctantly abandoned his dinner and walked over to the site of the argument.

**"We want no trouble with Wookiee,"** the Rodian protested. **"Our problem with you, little girl!"**

The Twi'lek smirked, obviously aware she now had the upper hand. "You got a problem with me? Then you got a problem with Big Z. So unless you want to take on my furry friend, I suggest you greenies hop on out of here."

The Rodian weighed the pros and cons, decided taking on a Wookiee wasn't worth it, and headed to the exit, muttering all the while, **"Little girl lucky she has big friend."**

The Twi'lek rolled her eyes again, then caught sight of Wren and Carth. She brightened instantly, walking over to where they stood. "Say, I don't recognize you, and I know pretty much everyone in the Lower City. I guess that makes me and Big Z your official welcoming committee."

"You showed a lot of guts dealing with those Vulkars, kid," Carth commented approvingly. "You got a name?"

She smiled and shook his hand. "I'm Mission Vao, and this big Wookiee is my best friend Zaalbar. And you two?"

"Carth.”

"I'm Wren." Wren shook her hand as well. "Pleasure to meet you."

Mission grinned. "I'd offer to give you a tour, but the streets down here aren't safe. But if there's anything else you need…?" She let the offer trail off, waiting for Wren to fill in the blank.

"Actually I think you may be just what we're looking for," Wren said, looking at Carth and then back at Mission. "We're looking for information on the Undercity, specifically the escape pods that crashed down there."

"Well I can tell you right now you'll need help getting down there," Mission began. "That fancy Sith armor you're wearing might've got you past the Upper City guard, but the guy down here always wants to look at the paperwork. Fortunately for you, I know some people. If you turn left out of the cantina, head down the street and the first door you’ll come to on the right leads to the Hidden Bek base. Tell them Mission Vao sent you. Gadon should be able to help you get down to the Undercity, and he'll probably have more information for you about those escape pods. Oh, and I'd change out of that Sith armor before you go. Tends to make people nervous."

"Thanks, Mission. Oh, before I forget, there's one other thing. I'm looking for some scumbag named Holdan, would you know where to find him?"

Mission pulled a disgusted face. "Oh, him? Sleazeball. He's over in that room over there, ogling the Twi'lek dancers. Good luck with him."

"And the bounty office?"

"Door right behind you. If you're a sweet enough talker, you should be able to convince that Hutt to pay you extra for some jobs, especially the really dangerous ones."

"Thanks a lot. It was nice meeting you, Mission. Now I've got a sleazeball to deal with."

"You goin'? Yeah, this dive is pretty boring. No action around here. Come on, Big Z, let's go."

**"But I haven't finished eating!"** Zaalbar protested.

"Can't you think about something besides your stomach for five minutes? Come on, let's go see if there's anything good to eat at the Bek base." She waved and led a reluctant Zaalbar out of the cantina.

Wren sighed contentedly as they watched her go. "A girl after my own heart.”

"What, impatient and impulsive?"

"Yep." Wren grinned. "Now, you get us drinks. I'll deal with Holdan."

Carth hesitated. "What are you planning to do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Convince him to take the bounty off Dia's head of course."

"How?"

She winked. "You let me worry about that." Carth looked unhappy. "And it won’t involve agreeing to his scheme to destroy the planet," she added as an afterthought.

"I didn't—"

"Come on, Carth, I said I'll handle it. I can at least do my job, yeah?"

He nodded reluctantly and headed for the bar as she headed off to the side room where the band was playing and the dancers were dancing—after a brief stop in the refresher to change out of her Sith armor, of course. She doubted that would go over particularly well. Two human men occupied the room: one was watching the door with half an eye on the band, and the other was staring openly at the Twi'lek dancers. The first tried to approach her, but she waved him off before he could even speak, too impatient to even pretend to care what he was talking about.

She walked up to the second man, who must be Holdan, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hm? Oh, sorry. I got a little caught up watching the Twi'lek dancers. Look at them waggle those head-tails!"

Wren managed with great difficulty to keep the disgust off her face. "Are you Holdan?"

He turned to face her fully, gave her a once-over, and gave her what had to be the least appealing smile she’d ever seen. "That’s me. And don't worry, honey, I'm much more interested in an attractive female of my own species."

She kept a falsely pleasant smile on her face as she asked, "Like Dia?"

He backed off a little. "Oh, you're here about the bounty. Yeah, shame. Dia's a lovely girl, but I can't go letting people get away with attacking me like that."

"Sounds to me like she was defending herself," Wren observed, still keeping her tone pleasant and casual.

"Okay, look, so I was drunk, maybe I got a little fresh, but she didn't have to cut me!"

"Knowing what the consequences probably would be, would she have cut you if she had any other choice?" Wren asked sweetly.

"Well, sweetheart, when you put it that way…"

"I want the bounty on Dia's head removed."

"Now hold on just a second, I can't do that! Think of how it would look! No, she started this, I need to follow through!"

The smile never wavered from Wren's face. "Surely there must be something that could convince you."

"Well…" Holdan thought for a moment. "Maybe if someone were to give me 200 credits for my trouble I could be persuaded to lift the bounty. Or, well, if someone wanted to make it worth my while in another way…" He stepped closer, right up into her personal space.

“Or,” she said, taking a deliberate step back, “You could think about the fact that you putting a _bounty_ on her head just makes it look like you’re too pathetic to deal with your own problems.”

He scowled. “Or you could remember that there’s a fee to put a bounty on someone, and I’m still trying to make a living.”

“Well maybe you should’ve thought of that before you started running around putting bounties on innocent women.”

“Two hundred credits,” he said flatly. “Take it or someone else kills Dia.”

She glared at him for several seconds before retrieving the money and shoving at him. “Keep your end of the deal,” she warned. “I will be checking.”

She watched him go before returning to the cantina proper, finding the table Carth had chosen, and dropping into the chair across from him, taking a large swig from the offered drink.

She made a face. “Well, job’s done. What do you think? Should we see about making a deal with the Beks?”

“Well, considering our options, that does seem like the best idea, yeah.”

She nodded slowly. “Good. Good to know we can agree on _something_. And speaking of which, let’s talk some more about your conspiracy theories. Specifically, I'd like to know: do we have a problem?”

Carth gave a resigned sigh. "I knew you wouldn't understand where I was coming from. Let me try to explain. You're probably one of the most skilled people I've ever met. You've saved my butt more than once and I'm lucky to have you around, no question."

"But?" Wren asked testily.

"But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you or being wary. I'm just not built that way. Period." He spat the last word as though it had done him great personal wrong.

"And what, exactly, is it that I'm supposed to have done to deserve this?" Wren asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

Carth stared into his drink. "You, uh, you haven't done anything _yet_. But there's no guarantee you won't do anything in the future." Wren rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, the frustrated energy she’d built up from dealing with Holdan starting to boil over. "I've been betrayed before by people and it… well, it won't happen again."

"So, what, you never trust anyone and then no one can betray you? That your grand master plan? Genius, really." Wren started a slow clap, giving Carth the most sarcastic expression she could muster. She couldn’t have said why it bothered her so much that he didn’t trust her. Why should she care, after all? They’d save Bastila and get off this planet and she’d probably never see him again. But still, it did bother her. And a very large part of her was having to try very hard not to get any more frustrated with him than she already was.

"Look, I'm not trying to insult you. This is just the way I am, no need to take it personally."

Wren took a deep breath to try and calm down. It didn't work. "Don't you tell me not to take it personally you—you _hairless Wookiee!"_   She managed to keep her voice at a normal decibel level, but it was a near thing.

Carth actually had the audacity to laugh. "Hairless Wookiee? All right sister, just—just—just calm down before your head explodes." He held out his hands in a placating gesture, but all that did was make it worse.

"We'll see whose head explodes you ungrateful monkey-lizard,” she snapped. She’d still managed not to raise her voice, but she was injecting as much venom as she thought possible into her words and even so it apparently wasn’t working. “I've already had one explosion today, maybe I can double the fun and make it two!"

Infuriatingly, Carth continued laughing at her threat. "That your idea of an insult? All right. Come on, sister, take your best shot."

Ordinarily she'd have made some comment about _What happened to gorgeous?_ but she was too exasperated with him to even think of it. "Drooling Bomarr cast-off!" she snarled.

"Ooh, ouch. I think you hurt my man-feelings with that one."

"Don't patronize me."

He actually stopped laughing and sounded sincere for a moment. "Wouldn't think of it. Feel better now?"

She scowled. "Maybe a little."

He nodded. "Good. Then maybe we can talk reasonably about this."

"You know, you say that as though I'm the one who's being unreasonable," Wren pointed out. "Mr. I-Don't-Trust-Anyone-Ever-Which-Is-A-Completely-Reasonable-Position-To-Have."

Carth sighed deeply. "All I'm trying to say is it's not personal. It's not because it's you. If you were smart, you wouldn't trust anyone either—not me, not Bastila, and especially not yourself."

Wren took a moment to consider the implications of what he was saying. Not trusting Bastila wasn't an issue—she was a Jedi, after all. But as a smuggler, herself was usually the only one she could trust. And Carth…

"I wouldn't want to live like that," she finally said in a rare moment of both complete seriousness and vulnerability.

Carth smiled sadly. "Not all of us have the luxury of a choice. I'm conditioned this way, sorry."

Wren looked up to meet his eyes, trying desperately to understand. "So leave. Be on your own. It's obviously what you want, that way you don't have to be looking over your shoulder for me to stab you in the back constantly. Or better yet, forget Bastila and escape the planet on your own, 'cause if you don't trust her what's the point of bringing her back to be the "Republic's Only Hope"? Leaving would clearly be best for you, if you don't want to have to worry about people you don't trust following you around everywhere!"

"That's not what I want!" Carth exclaimed. "I want us to save the galaxy, if that's even possible. Why is whether I trust you, or anyone, so damned important to you? Why—why do you even care?" Wren opened her mouth to answer—something heated and angry that she probably would have regretted later—but it was clearly a rhetorical question as Carth continued speaking before she had a chance. "We don't have time for this, so can we please just drop it? For now? We can talk about it later if you must, I want to get underway."

But she was far from satisfied, she couldn’t even sit still anymore from all the frustrated agitation building up within her, and she’d had enough. “I’ll make it easier for you,” she said, getting to her feet so quickly she almost tipped her chair over backwards. “You shouldn’t have to work with a partner you don’t trust, and I have no use for a partner who doesn’t trust me. Make up your mind, and if you decide you do want me, find me your damn self. Otherwise… good luck.” And she walked away, leaving him staring after her in shock.

(Even as she said the words she was beginning to regret them. They burned like acid in her throat and stomach, and she didn’t want to leave, she _didn’t_ , but what choice did she have? If he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ trust her…)

She entered the bounty office just as Holdan was leaving it, choosing to completely ignore him in favor of walking up to the Hutt in charge. "You the one in charge of the bounties?”

**"Yes."**

"Did Holdan remove Dia's bounty?"

**"Yes."**

"Good. Now, I understand there was a bounty on a guy named Matrik?"

**"That is correct, human."**

"I just so happened to recently kill Matrik in one of the most beautiful explosions I've ever seen. I'm here to collect the bounty."

**"Yes, I heard there was a rather large explosion. I understand that Matrik was probably incinerated in the blast. Next time just use a blaster, human! Bombs are messy! Still, I'll give you the standard fee for bounties: 300 credits."**

Wren decided not to push her luck on this one. "Sounds fair. Now, I heard there are a couple of government contracts out? Dangerous ones? I'd like to hear about those." All this pent-up agitation had to go somewhere, after all, and if the rest of Davik’s contracts were anything like Dia or Matrik, they’d barely even be a distraction let alone a workout.

The Hutt chuckled. **"Oh, so you're one of those types. Always going for the most dangerous thing available. All right, well the first contract is for an assassin named Selven. She’s killed off almost an entire branch of the Ulgo family here on Taris you know."** Wren did a double-take. She knew that name. _Trask_. **"Every bounty hunter who's gone after her has been killed so far. Think you'll get lucky?"**

Wren huffed. "I don't need luck. I have ammo."

**"The other government contract is for a man named Bendak Starkiller. He used to fight in the dueling ring, but he hasn't entered since death matches were banned. He killed dozens of people in duels! Good luck finding a way to take him out."**

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of something. I'll be back once they're dead." Specifically choosing not to look for Carth, Wren exited the cantina and turned left. Mission and Zaalbar were exiting the Bek base as she approached, Mission looking excited and Zaalbar slightly disgruntled.

"Wren!" the Twi'lek called out.

"Mission!" she called back. "Got a question for you. Do you have any idea where an assassin named Selven might be hiding?"

"You're going after _Selven?"_   Mission let out a low whistle. "Well, good luck. I heard rumors about a bunch of bodies piling up in the apartment complex on the other side of the Lower City—people started complaining, so the Beks agreed to help clean them out—you know, in exchange for a few credits. I guess Selven's in there, killing anything that comes near her."

"Thanks, Mission!" And Wren headed off up the street toward the other set of apartments.

She found her entrance blocked by a commotion: two Black Vulkars arguing with another man.

“What, you think just because you're in some gang you don't have to give Davik his cut?” the man was saying. An enforcer for Davik then, probably, or some kind of agent.

**“I don't see Davik doing anything to earn his share,”** one of the Vulkars complained.

**“Yeah, let’s see the crime lord come and take his money from the Black Vulkars!”** said the other one.

Wren, watching from the sidelines, pinched the bridge of her nose. Was every single one of the Vulkars a complete moron? It must be one of the requirements to join or something.

The enforcer appeared to agree. He chuckled. “So, you want to do this the hard way? Okay.” He whistled sharply.

The apartment door behind the Vulkars opened (he'd cut off any chance of their escaping that way; smart) and another man walked out.

He wasn't even wearing armor—just a black shirt and red vest—but the Vulkars dropped their bravado in an instant as he approached. As she got a better look at him, Wren could understand why. He was quite an impressive sight, even without armor. A few inches taller than Carth, he towered over the Black Vulkars, glaring down at them—he didn't even look angry, just utterly convinced that these scum were beneath him and he had better things to be doing with his time. And to top it all off, he was carrying a blaster rifle almost the size of one of his legs. Wren eyed him appreciatively.

The Vulkars, meanwhile, were fidgeting nervously. **“Oh, uh, hey Canderous,”** one of them ventured. **“We didn't know you was working for Davik now.”**

**“Yeah, we don't want any trouble with a Mandalorian.”** _Ah._ That explained a lot. **“Here's Davik’s cut.”**

The enforcer smirked. “I knew you boys would see reason.”

The Vulkars ran off, and the Mandalorian frowned. “Shame. I was looking forward to cracking some heads.”

The enforcer shrugged. “Maybe next time, Canderous. In the meantime, you'd better get back to your assignment. I'll get the money to Davik.”

They nodded at each other and parted ways. The enforcer ignored Wren completely, while Canderous eyed her, apparently decided she wasn't enough of a threat to be bothered with, and headed for the elevator to the Undercity.

Wren watched him for a few seconds, shrugged, and turned to enter the apartments.

The sight that greeted her upon entering the complex was the same man from the cantina confronting a pair of Rodians.

**"What you want?"** one of them demanded.

**"Shh!"** his fellow warned. **"That's Calo Nord, the infamous bounty hunter!"**

"There's a bounty on your little green heads. I'm here to collect," Calo stated matter-of-factly.

**"The only way you're getting that bounty is over our cold dead bodies!"** the first Rodian cried defiantly.

Wren sighed. Maybe the idiocy down here wasn’t restricted to the Vulkars.

"That's the plan," Calo confirmed, shooting them both. He turned to leave the apartment complex, stopping in front of Wren. "Go away," he said.

Deciding it was better not to mess with the guy for the moment, Wren stepped aside. "I'll let you be on your way."

"Smart," he agreed, and he was gone.

Deciding to go right first this time, Wren turned and headed around the circle of apartments till she reached the first door. Moments later, met with a blaster pointed directly at her face, she regretted that decision.

"Stop right there, or you'll get a blaster bolt right between the eyes. Who are you, and what do you want?"

Wren nodded at her predicament. "Selven, I presume?"

"That's right. Now get out of here, or you'll see exactly why I'm the most dangerous assassin on Taris!"

"Mmmmm, I'll take my chances," Wren decided, simultaneously rolling to the floor as Selven's shot skimmed over her head. She pulled out her blaster in one fluid motion and got a shot off at Selven's torso, but she must have been concealing body armor. The shot ricocheted off Selven's stomach and Wren narrowly dodged before it connected with the wall out in the hall. Selven, meanwhile, had drawn a vibroblade. _Shit_ , Wren thought. Swords had never been her strong suit. Nevertheless, she drew a sword in her right hand, holstering the blaster with her left.

Selven twirled the sword around experimentally before lunging at Wren, who narrowly dodged to the left, swatting Selven's sword away with her own. She tried for another shot and managed to catch the assassin in the arm (which appeared to be unarmored). The woman hissed in pain and struck again. And again. And again, forcing Wren more and more on the defensive. She was focusing all her energy and effort on anticipating the strikes and blocking them, but Selven had her outmatched and at a disadvantage. The assassin was _good_ , and Wren was passable at best; all the technique she’d ever learned seemed to be slipping from her grasp even as she tried to keep up. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before she made a fatal mistake. Why hadn’t she considered that Selven might use a vibroblade? Then maybe she wouldn’t have done the stupid thing and run off on her own. As she dodged and blocked to the best of her ability, she could only see two possible outcomes: a brilliant stroke of luck, enough to win the duel for her, or her own particularly gruesome death.

The moment came. Selven lunged low, and Wren wasn’t quick enough to block her. The blade bit into her right calf, deep enough to cut muscle. Wren stumbled backward, wincing but managing not to cry out. But Selven had all the momentum she needed. Her vibroblade came up and slashed downwards, across the right side of her ribcage and her stomach. Wren tried to dodge, but not quickly enough. She felt the cold burn of Selven’s blade as it cut deeply into her right side. Praying that she could still manage enough luck to ensure that no one else died, she drew her blaster left-handed, firing blindly in Selven’s direction before dropping the weapon, pressing a hand to her side to try and stem the flow as she fell. It wasn’t going to be enough. Her glove was soaked through in moments.

She couldn't see. Selven was going to kill her. Pain clouded her vision. She could hear the rush of her own blood in her ears.

_Mission's the only one who knows I'm here_. The thought occurred to her suddenly. Then, _I’m going to die here._

The gray of her vision was fading into complete darkness when she heard a voice crying out. "Wren? _Wren!"_   She felt more than saw or heard whoever it was crashing to their knees beside her, one hand brushing the hair out of her face. "Wren, stay with me," the voice demanded urgently. "Don't die on me now."

_Die?_   Was she really dying already? She must be, she reasoned. The cut was deep, after all, and bleeding liberally. But the pain was fading, along with the rest of the feeling in her body. Some part of her registered that that must be a bad thing.

"Hang in there, beautiful," the voice whispered, and she knew no more.


	3. There's Always a Sewer

As Wren woke up, consciousness returned before sensation. The pain, however, returned with her awareness. Inconvenient. She tried to open her eyes, but the lids felt like lead. As more and more of the pain returned, however, she was able to muster a vaguely pained groan.

Immediately, a hand was in hers, squeezing gently. "Wren?"

She tried her eyes again, but the weight of her lids was too much. Maybe her hand? She squeezed the hand in hers, and the voice from before called out, "She's waking up!"

Whose voice was it? She knew she should know it, but she couldn't think hard enough…

"Open your eyes, beautiful," the voice instructed gently.

Well… all right. She could try one more time. Ever so slowly, she forced her eyelids to peel apart, revealing her irises to whoever sat at her bedside.

The world was out of focus. A blurred, orange-and-brown shape sat beside her, and another figure, clad mostly in white, appeared to enter the room behind it. She blinked once, slowly. Light brown was clouding part of her vision. _Her hair._ Then a hand appeared out of nowhere, brushing it away. She blinked again. The world started to resolve itself into focus, and the pieces clicked into place.

_Carth._

"Carth?" she said aloud.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said softly, his hand cupping her cheek a moment longer before pulling away.

"What… happened?"

He let out a deep breath. "I couldn't find you. By the time I figured out you'd left the cantina, you were long gone and the guard at the Bek base said Mission had told you where to find Selven. When I got there, I saw her stab you, and you lifted your arm and shot her straight in the head." He took another deep breath, closing his eyes tight. "For a minute there, I thought you were going to die," he admitted. "I bandaged the wound as best I could, got you back here to the Bek base, and they've done their best to patch you up."

Wren furrowed her eyebrows suspiciously. "For free?"

"Of course not," Carth said. "I made a deal with the leader. I think it'll work to our benefit, though."

Just then the white-clad figure (presumably the Beks' medic) spoke up. "She's healing so quickly it's almost miraculous," she declared. "It's almost like some of the Jedi meditative healing techniques I saw during the Mandalorian Wars."

Wren stiffened at the word 'Jedi.' Carth laid a hand on her shoulder. "She's not saying there's actually a Jedi healing you," he assured her. "Right?" he asked the medic.

She shook her head. "Unless your friend is a Jedi herself, which I'm going to guess she isn't, then no. I can't really explain it, but she's healing remarkably well. She should be able to be up on her feet again by tomorrow." She nodded to both of them and left the room.

Wren watched her go before returning her attention to Carth. "So what's this deal you made with the Beks?"

"I talked to their leader about the escape pods. He said that the Vulkars captured a female Republic officer from one of the pods and they're offering her up as their share of the prize for this year's swoop race."

"Bastila's been captured?"

Carth nodded. "I guess theoretically it could be someone else, but the Jedi always say the Force works in mysterious ways, and I have a good feeling that she's the one we're looking for."

Wren frowned. "So… what's the good news?"

"Gadon is willing to sponsor one of us in the swoop race so we can get Bastila back. The catch is that first we need to break into the Vulkar base and steal back Gadon's prototype accelerator for a swoop bike."

"Sounds like fun. When do we leave?" She started to sit up, but Carth pushed her back down.

"Not until I’m satisfied you're okay to be fighting again. It won't be easy."

Wren made a frustrated noise. "Fine. But we can at least do some planning. How do we get in the base?"

"Gadon said to talk to Mission. Apparently she and Zaalbar went into the Undercity shortly after you saw her, so we'll find her down there. I also traded our Sith uniforms for some security papers to get us past the guard on the Undercity elevator."

Wren smiled. "You think of everything."

Carth fidgeted a little. "Well, with you down and out, I had to do something." He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "And look, I just wanted to say… I'm sorry. I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to upset you. I know you’ve put up with a lot of shit from me, and I haven’t really been making it easy on you.” He made a frustrated noise. “I just—" he sighed. "And then when I found you collapsed… _dying,_ I—" He cut himself off again. "You're important, Wren. I hope you know that. I couldn't have made it this far without you. Just… promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I… yeah. I… guess I shouldn’t have run off. That was… reckless of me. I just—you’re just so—I keep trying to understand you, and I keep hitting the same damn wall, you know? Sometimes it’s like you actually think I’m going to stab you in the back at any moment, and then sometimes it’s almost as though you _care_ or something, but… I don’t _understand._ "

Carth sighed, looking away for a moment before meeting her eyes when he spoke. "All right, you win. You want to know why I don't trust anyone? Here goes. Five years ago, we'd just returned from the war with the Mandalorians. Revan and Malak were heroes. I was damn proud to have served in their fleet. It was completely unexpected when they turned on us, attacking the Republic while we were still weak. _Nobody_ knew what to think, least of all me. Our heroes had become… brutal, conquering Sith, and we were all but helpless before them. I mean, think about it, if you can't even trust the best of the Jedi, who can you trust?"

"Plenty of people," Wren mumbled bitterly, staring at her sheets. "As long as they _aren't_ Jedi." Her eyes returned to meet Carth’s. "I still don't understand," she pressed. "What do I have to do with Revan and Malak?"

Carth shook his head. "It's not that, it's—that's not what I mean. There were—there were others. Good, solid, trusted men who joined them. Malak and Revan and the Sith deserve to die for what they've done, but the ones who fled the Republic and joined them are even worse. The Dark Side had nothing to do with why they joined the Sith. They deserve no mercy!" His fists were clenched at his sides and his teeth were gritted; his eyes flashed with a darkness she’d never thought to see there.

This was far more personal than a few abstract defectors. But Wren would get to that eventually. "See, that's why I hate this whole 'Light side/Dark side' thing," she said. "Revan and Malak get a pass for the billions they've slaughtered, because the 'Dark Side' was 'influencing them.’ I'm no Jedi. I don't know how that shit works, but it sounds like an excuse to me. Anyone who chooses to wage war on the galaxy? Knows exactly what they're doing.”

Carth looked thoughtful, though the darkness didn’t vanish from his gaze. “Maybe you’re right.” He lapsed into silence.

“I still don't see what this has to do with me,” Wren pressed after a moment. “I haven't joined the Sith, Carth, dark side or no."

He sighed. "I know. And—and I guess I should apologize for that, too. I've grown so accustomed to expecting the worst in others, and you've done nothing to deserve that. It's just—" He paused for a long moment. "Well, never mind. Let's just get on with what we were doing. I'd rather not talk about it."

Wren held his gaze for a few moments, concerned, then said, "Okay."

He hesitated for a moment, then squeezed her shoulder. "You should get some rest," he advised. "We need to get to the Undercity as soon as possible when you've recovered. The swoop race is in three days."

Wren inhaled and exhaled deeply. "You sure you've got everything under control?"

"I'll take care of it. Rest, Wren."

When Wren woke up again, it was early the next morning according to her chrono. Groaning, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, taking it slow, trying to feel out the extent of her wounds. The pain was nowhere near as bad as she remembered, nor as bad as she’d expected. She touched her side gingerly. It still hurt, but it was as though it had been healing for at least a week, and not only for a day and a half. As for the cut on her leg, it was almost entirely gone, leaving only a pink scratch in its wake. And she couldn’t feel it anymore, either, except for a slight sting on the surface when she touched it, suggesting that the muscle had healed, too. _Huh._

She dressed as best she could and stood up—a little slowly, but it was progress. Suddenly she swayed and had to lean against the wall for support. That was when she remembered that she hadn't eaten or drunk anything in at least twenty-four hours. Steadying herself, she moved out the door and into the Bek base.

Most of the Beks appeared to still be asleep, but one of them was able to lead her to the kitchen, where she was given a glass of water and a plate of food which apparently Carth had set aside for her. Now all that was left to do was wait for Carth to wake up and they could be on their way. Just as she’d sat down to wait, however, she remembered she had a bounty to collect on. Near-fatal injury or not, she’d still killed Selven.

**"You're back, human!"** the Hutt greeted. **"Change your mind?"**

"Ha," Wren said sarcastically. "No. I killed Selven. I'm here for the bounty."

The Hutt chortled. **"So you did, so you did, though I heard you almost died doing it. 300 credits it is, then. That's the usual price for bounties."**

"You know, I have a question for you," Wren said. "Why is it that the government contracts pay the same as the special ones? After all, the government ones are significantly more dangerous. Why, killing Matrik was a walk in the park, but I almost died going after Selven. Wouldn't it make more sense to offer more money for the more dangerous contracts?"

The Hutt regarded her for a moment. **"Ho, ho, ho, very well. I like you, human. You've got guts. And so, 400 credits it is for this job."**

"Pleasure doing business," Wren said with a smile, and she left the office.

Back at the Bek base, Carth was awake and waiting for her. "Where have you been?"

"Collecting my pay for almost dying," she said casually, flashing the 400 credits at him before sliding them into her bag. "Ready to go?"

He looked like he was about to make some objection, changed his mind, and nodded. "I've got the papers. Let's go see if they work on that guard."

“Stop right there, civilian!” The guard said as they approached. “The Undercity is a restricted area. Only those with proper authorization papers can go down, so unless you have the authorization you can just go right back where you came from.”

“You mean this authorization?” Wren casually handed him the papers.

“Oh.” He seemed to deflate a bit.

“Not a lot of people to practice that speech on?” Wren asked sympathetically. “No worries. I understand the boredom of guard duty. Now if those are all in order, we'll be going.”

“Of course,” the guard said, handing the papers back to Wren. “Good luck down there. Try not to get eaten by a Rakghoul.”

“Thank you ever so much for the comforting send-off,” Wren returned sarcastically as the elevator doors closed behind them.

Silence reigned in the elevator until Carth finally spoke. “Do you, uh, mind if I ask you something?”

Wren laughed dryly. “I’ve been interrogating you constantly, it seems only fair. Shoot.”

“How did you end up joining the Republic?” he asked.

“Funny story, that,” she said, smiling a little at the memory. “I was a smuggler. Nothing horrible or illicit,” she assured him quickly at his dubious look, “I tried to avoid working for the Exchange and those types. But I got impatient with laws so I decided to work around them. Things like customs lines or import taxes or other things that were preventing me from helping people to the best of my ability. People who didn’t deserve to be suffering.” She sighed. “I used to have a crew, but they… drifted away, or died. Since then I’ve been working solo, occasionally with a droid or two to help me. The Republic’s been after me for years, as I understand it. They finally caught up to me a few months ago, but I caught on they were following me and ambushed them. Their commander, from the middle of my trap, told me they weren’t there to arrest me—the Republic wanted to hire me. I listened to the offer, decided to take it, and here I am.” She looked up at Carth with a wry smile. “I can practically see you adding to your mental checklist of Reasons not to Trust Wren: was a smuggler. Well let me tell you something, Onasi. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what it takes: you have to do the right thing. Even if, in certain cases, the right thing is illegal.”

“That’s…” Carth struggled for words for a moment. “I can understand that, I guess.”

“So, question for you.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Have you ever raced a swoop bike?”

He looked up, surprised. “That’s… not what I was expecting,” he said finally.

“Well, someone needs to do it. And if you haven’t, I’m probably the better option. Plus, that way if the thing explodes or something—”

“What?” Carth met her eyes, alarmed.

She shrugged. “It happens. Not really a big deal, but I’m way more expendable than you are. You being the decorated war hero and all that, and me just being a smuggler they picked out of the hyperlanes.”

He looked at her as though he’d finally had some sort of major revelation. “Is that why you keep risking your life? Because you think you’re expendable?”

She shrugged again. “Some things need to be done. Some of them are dangerous. And I’d rather not see you die, personally. Better to take the risk myself. So anyway, I’ll race the bike then.”

“What about Selven?” Carth clearly wasn’t done. “You didn’t _have_ to go after her, and all it got you was 400 credits and a stab wound. Why?”

“That one was more for the honor than the money.”

His brow furrowed. “Honor?”

“I owed a debt to a dead man. Selven had been running around slaughtering his family, so I chose to repay the debt by avenging them. Score’s even.”

He was silent for a few moments, processing this, before he asked, “Who was the man?”

“On the _Endar Spire,_ Trask Ulgo. He… well, he was the one who made sure I was going to get out of there. He made a stupid sacrifice, unnecessary even, and he didn’t survive. Tried to take on a dark Jedi.” She sighed again. “But when that Hutt said that Selven had been assassinating the Ulgos, I knew this was my opportunity to repay my debt, you know? I can’t exactly hunt down his killer, seeing as the dark Jedi probably died in the explosion anyway.”

Carth didn’t seem to know what to say to that, but at that moment, the elevator stopped moving, and a grate lowered to admit them into the Undercity.

The first thing that hit Wren was the smell. She inhaled through her nose just long enough to be able to tell that it was about thirty-seven different kinds of awful, then she started breathing through her mouth.

The second thing she noticed were the two beggars waiting in ambush.

“You there! Up-worlder! This is our elevator!” one of them shouted.

“Yeah!” the second one jumped in. “Anyone using our elevator has to pay the toll! Five credits!”

Carth snorted. “I don’t believe this planet. Even the beggars are trying to shake us down!”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Here.” She tossed a five-credit chip to one of the two men. They looked at it as though it were made of solid gold and ran off, celebrating.

“Go on you two, get out of here!” called another voice. A young woman came running out of the shadows, waving her hands at the beggars. “Sorry about that,” she addressed Wren and Carth. “Those two beggars give everyone in the village a bad name. We’re not all like that, you know. Most of us are good people.”

“I’m sure you are, miss,” Carth reassured her. “It’s just too bad your little welcoming committee is here to give people a bad first impression.”

“My name is Shaleena,” said the girl. “You’re from the up-world, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t live on Taris, but I came from up there, yeah. My name’s Wren.”

“Is it as beautiful as they say up there?”

Wren smiled wryly. “Depends what you’re comparing it to. I’ve seen planets that could make the Upper City look like a festering slime pit, but I guess, in the grand scheme of things, the skyline and the city is quite lovely.”

Shaleena’s eyes were wide and shining. “I’ve never been to the up-world before, but sometimes I think I can see it in my dreams. The sun, the sky, the stars… it all sounds so… so… so wonderful.” She closed her eyes for a moment, like she was drinking in the image in her imagination, then she sighed and opened them again. “Gendar tells me I need to spend more time trying to improve things down here, and less time dreaming about what I can never have. I guess he’s right.”

Wren spoke up again. “Pardon me for saying so, but we should really be going. Speaking of which, have you seen a Twi’lek named Mission Vao? We heard she came down here.”

“I—I don’t really know,” Shaleena admitted. “You could probably ask Gendar, the village leader. He’s just over there.” She pointed out the man, and Wren nodded her thanks.

“Thank you for your help, Shaleena,” she said, shaking the girl’s hand and leaving behind twenty credits. “Good luck to you.”

“Welcome, up-worlder,” Gendar said as they approached. “I am Gendar, the leader of this village. Is there any way I can be of assistance to you?”

“Funnily enough, yes,” Wren replied smoothly. “I’m looking for a Twi’lek named Mission Vao. I heard she came down here recently.”

“Ah yes, she and her Wookiee friend often pass through the village on their way to explore the sewers. That’s probably where you’ll find them. There are two entrances to the sewers, one to the north of the village, and one to the south. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I think we’re set,” Wren replied, looking at Carth, who nodded. “Thank you for your help.”

As they approached the village gate, a panicked scream echoed through the village, followed by a woman’s voice. “Hurry, Hendar! Hurry! I can hear it coming!”

“He’ll never make it!” replied another voice. “Agh, I told him he was a fool to leave the village!” As Wren approached, the two voices materialized into the figures of the panicking woman and the gate guard. A man ran up outside the gate, panting.

“Open the gate! Quickly! There isn’t much time!”

The gate guard appeared supremely conflicted. “Ergh…. I can’t! The rakghouls are too close!”

“But the mutants will kill him if you don’t open the gate!” the woman begged.

“And if I open the gate, they’ll kill us all!”

“No, you can’t do this! It isn’t fair!”

Wren stepped forward. “Pardon me for saying so, but in the time it took you to decide not to open the gate, you probably could have opened it, let your man in, and closed it before the rakghouls even got here. As it is, open it. Let the guy in, and let me and my friend out. We’ll take care of the rest.”

The guard looked to Wren with both eyebrows raised, his eyes wide. “You’d risk your life for a stranger?”

Wren shrugged. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. I need to get out, he needs to get in…”

“You are brave, up-worlder,” the guard said. “Very well. I will open the gate, but you need to be quick. In a few seconds I must close and lock it again.” He released the lock on the gate and pushed it open. Wren and Carth slipped out, Hendar slipped in, and the guard closed the gate.

And then the rakghoul was upon them. It wasn’t the most disgusting creature Wren had ever seen (she’d been a lot of places as a smuggler) but it was certainly up there. Vaguely humanoid, with huge jaws, pale white, and covered in slime. Its teeth were yellow and jagged, and it seemed to be at least mostly blind if its tiny squinty eyes were anything to go by.

She and Carth simultaneously drew their blasters and shot the thing full of holes. It stumbled around for a few seconds before collapsing in a slimy heap.

Wren blew out air through her lips. “Well that was disgusting. Shall we?” She headed off to the north without waiting for an answer from Carth.

The rakghouls weren’t _everywhere,_ per se, but there were certainly far more of them than Wren would have liked. The rakghouls weren’t the only living things down there, however.

“Hold it right there, civilian!” called a red-armored Sith man. “This is a restricted area, what are you doing down here?” He was followed by five armed and armored Sith troopers—a full patrol, it seemed.

Wren stood her ground, adopting an accent just to be on the safe side. “How do you think I would have gotten down here if I wasn’t authorized?” she demanded. “Check out my security papers if you don’t believe me.” She pulled out the papers and handed them to the patrol head.

“Security papers?” he asked, scanning them. “Oh, you’re one of the trackers the commander sent down, aren’t you? They should have given you an armed escort, it’s nasty down here. The place is crawling with mutants—rakghouls, they call them.”

“Oh, believe me, we’ve encountered them,” Wren assured him.

“We’ve lost one patrol already. There’ve been so many attacks we’ve actually run out of rakghoul serum. I’m telling you, we should just stay in the Upper City where we’re in control.”

She snorted. “You’ve got that right. Unfortunately for all of us, we’ve got jobs to do down here. You said you lost one patrol already?”

“Oh, is that why you’re here? Search and rescue? I didn’t think they’d send anyone. Yeah, we lost contact with them when they were off to the south of that slime pit the scum down here call a village. I doubt you’ll find any survivors, though you’re welcome to try.”

“I’ll be off then,” Wren said, all business, taking back the security papers from the patrol head. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Good luck out there,” the man called after her. Then, quieter, “You’ll need it.”

Wren headed south, in the direction that the Sith had indicated. Carth jogged to catch up to her. “Any particular reason we’re actually searching for a lost Sith patrol?” he asked.

“Two, actually. One, if they’re alive, they might have more information, or they might have seen Mission. And two, the patrol head said they’d run out of rakghoul serum. But there’s a chance that the other patrol was killed before they had a chance to use theirs. Do you have any idea what the medical centers in the Upper City could do if they had a sample of that stuff? But no, the Sith are hoarding it, of course. If we can get even a little bit, I can take it back to the medical center and they should be able to reproduce it.”

“That’s an awful lot of ifs and chances,” Carth said doubtfully.

“Do you have a better idea?” Wren asked. “At the very least the Sith are bound to have some credits on them, maybe a couple good weapons we can sell. And there is a sewer entrance in the south. If we can—”

“Hey! You have to help me!” The voice came from off in the dark, but its source quickly emerged from the shadows, sprinting into view. “Nobody else is going to help me, even the Beks won’t help me!” Mission cried, running right up to them before coming to a slightly slippery halt in front of them, eyes darting between Wren and Carth so fast it was almost hard to follow. “But—but I can’t just leave him there, he—he’s my friend! You’ll help me, won’t you?” Her eyes were wide and desperate.

Wren held up both hands in front of her, hoping to calm her down a little. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Mission. Take a deep breath, and tell me what happened.”

“Me—me and Zaalbar were just in the sewers, just kind of exploring, we do it all the time!” Mission panted. She stopped for a second to take two deep breaths, clearly trying to calm down. It didn’t seem to be working too well. “Only this time they were waiting for us. Gamorrean slavers. We didn’t even get a chance to run. Big Z threw himself at them and then roared for me to run. I—I took off. I figured he’d be right behind me. But they captured him! They’re going to sell him to a slaver, I just know it!”

“Do you know where he’s being kept?” Carth asked, stepping toward her to put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently, clearly trying to reassure her.

Mission nodded. “The Gamorreans make their camp in the sewers. The stink reminds them of home, I guess. That’s where we’ll find Big Z.”

Wren nodded, a plan already forming in her mind. “I’ll tell you what, Mission. If we can help you rescue Zaalbar, can you show us a secret way into the Vulkar base? I’m on a job for Gadon.”

Mission didn’t even give it a second thought. “It’s a deal. You help me find Big Z, and I’ll show you a way into that scum den.”

“All right, you’ve got yourself a deal. Where’s the sewer entrance?”

Mission pointed. “It’s south of here. There’s more rakghouls down there so keep your blasters out.” And she led the way into the darkness.

The first movement they encountered, however, was not a rakghoul, nor was it a Sith. It was that Mandalorian Wren had encountered outside the apartments, followed by a gaggle of armed and scared-looking men.

“H-hold it right there!” one of them cried. “I’ve got a blaster and I’m not afraid to use it!”

Wren snorted. “I bet you are, at least a little. Your hand’s shaking.”

Canderous guffawed. “She’s got you there kid. And calm down, do they look like rakghouls to you? I’ve already lost two men to those damned things, I’m not losing more in a needless firefight.”

“You’re that Mandalorian,” Wren addressed him. She felt Carth tense beside her and nudged him. Now, as Canderous had said, was not the time for a firefight, or for killing anything that wasn’t a rakghoul.

“I see you’re well-informed,” he said. “Canderous of Clan Ordo. Now I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve already lost two men to the rakghouls and the escape pods have already been stripped bare. Those damned Vulkars think they can just come in and take whatever they want. Well, Davik won’t be happy about that, let me tell you.”

“I certainly believe it,” Wren agreed. “As the local crime lord, he’d be entitled to first crack at the salvage, right?”

“That’s right. So if that’s why you’re here, forget about it. The Vulkars took everything worth taking. No use getting yourselves killed over a pile of scrap.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A thought occurred to her. “You see the corpses of a Sith patrol anywhere around here?”

Canderous nodded. “Saw them as my men were fleeing the rakghouls. Just over there. There’s a whole horde of the monsters guarding them though. Watch yourself.”

Wren nodded her thanks. “We’d better be going. Keep yourselves alive till you’re out of this slime pit, yeah?”

Canderous snorted his agreement. “Come on, men, let’s move out.” They headed back in the direction of the village as Wren led Carth and Mission in the direction Canderous had indicated for the Sith patrol.

They found them, all right, with at least seven or eight rakghouls hovering over them. Wren sighed. “This is not going to be fun,” she warned the others. “Better be worth it.” And she opened fire.

They managed to take down four of the rakghouls before they even got close. That, however, was when things started to get complicated. The rakghouls swarmed them—three remained now—swiping at them with their claws, trying to bite them. The worst thing about it was that this was no ordinary fight with a wild animal. In that case, a graze wouldn’t be a problem, even a full-on bite could be patched up. But these? The tiniest scratch could turn you into a rabid slavering monster.

Wren did not particularly like the idea of being a rabid slavering monster. So she fired, and dodged, and stabbed, and dodged again, and ducked, and twirled, and fired and stabbed some more. She could only hope that Carth and Mission were as lucky as she was.

It seemed they were, for when the last rakghoul went down, no one complained of a scratch, or of the surely horrible feeling of turning into a rabid slavering monster. With that taken care of, Wren approached the downed patrol.

Sure enough, Wren found not one, but two vials of rakghoul serum among the six bodies of the patrol members, along with four hundred credits. Worth it.

She pocketed the items, then turned to Mission. “To the sewer?”

Mission nodded, taking a deep breath. “To the sewer.”

Wren, still trying to breathe through her mouth as much as possible, tried and failed to prepare herself for how awful the sewer would smell. Unlike the Undercity, the sewer actually smelled so bad she could _taste_ it. She sighed, an action she instantly regretted as it required her to inhale deeply, and resigned herself to smelling like literal shit until they could get back to the Bek base, where they would hopefully have a proper shower.

Mission led the way confidently, but it quickly became apparent that she had absolutely no idea where she was going. _Fantastic. We’re in one of the top ten worst-smelling places I’ve ever been, and we’re also lost._

Mission then decided that if they just kept going right every time they came to a crossroads, they’d get somewhere eventually. Neither Wren nor Carth had a better idea, so off they went. Occasionally they’d come across a Gamorrean patrol or a group of rakghouls, but they usually had enough warning that they were able to kill them quickly without much danger to themselves (the rakghouls fought exclusively with claws and teeth, the Gamorreans with axes—not very good at long range).

It was at least another half hour before they came upon a Gamorrean patrol that seemed to actually know what they were doing. They had far less warning when they came upon this group—so much so that Mission and Wren were forced to draw their blades to engage them close-range while Carth fired from a distance. Mission sustained a few scratches and a pretty significant bruise, and Wren wasn’t faring much better. Carth was the only one to escape unscathed.

Mission approached an adjoining door, and all thought of injuries seemed immediately forgotten. “This is one of those old-style manual locks,” she marveled, examining the door. “No computer codes or nothing! But don’t worry,” she assured them quickly, “I’ve come across them before. I’ve rigged up a little device that should do the trick.” She pulled out a small handcrafted mechanical apparatus, tweaked a few things, and inserted it into the lock. Several seconds later, the lock made a satisfying _click_ and the door sprang open. Mission pocketed the device, grinning.

“See? I—” She was cut off as a wall of fur plowed into her, smothering the rest of her sentence.

“I guess we found Zaalbar,” Wren observed, amused.

**“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mission,”** Zaalbar growled.

Mission pushed him off, extricating herself from the tangle of his arms so she could hug him properly. “I’m glad to see you too, Big Z!”

**“Who’s that with you?”** the Wookiee asked.

Mission gestured. “Well, you probably don’t remember them from the cantina, seeing as how you were so busy focusing on your food like always,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But these are my new friends, Big Z! Without them, I never could’ve found you!”

Wren shrugged. “I don’t know about that. You’re remarkably resourceful, you know that?”

Mission blushed. “Well, yeah, but there’s no way I could’ve taken down all those Gamorreans by myself!”

“... you’ve got me there,” Wren said. “So yeah, we helped. **Pleasure to meet you again, Zaalbar.”** She added this last in the Wookiee tongue.

**“You know the language of my people?”** Zaalbar seemed surprised. **“That is rare among your species.”** He paused for a moment. **“I can think of only one way to repay the debt I owe you. I will swear a lifedebt to you.”**

Wren’s eyes widened. _A lifedebt?_ Just about the last thing a smuggler needed was a Wookiee following her around. Then again… well, she supposed he could be useful. Couldn’t hurt to have a gigantic furball watching her back at any rate. And… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have someone she could rely on besides herself, after so long flying solo.

She shot a glance at Carth, then turned back to Zaalbar. “Are you sure about this? I mean… we’ve only just met, for all you know I could be a galaxy-conquering supervillain or something like that.”

Zaalbar laughed. **“If you wanted to conquer the galaxy, wouldn’t you be off doing that instead of running around in Taris’ sewers?”**

“You raise an excellent point.”

**“What is your name?”**

“Oh! Right, we didn’t introduce ourselves. I’m Wren Grua, this is Carth Onasi.”

Zaalbar nodded to Carth and turned back to her. **“In the presence of all I swear the lifedebt. I shall follow you, Wren Grua, and do my utmost to protect you until the day one of us is no more.”**

Wren nodded respectfully. “I thank you, Zaalbar, and I am honored to accept your vow.”

“I guess that means you’re stuck with me too,” Mission cut in. “Wherever Big Z goes, I’m going.”

“I kinda figured that,” Wren said with a smile. “Welcome aboard.”

“Now, I guess I owe you one secret entrance into the Vulkar base. If I remember right it’s somewhere over to the northeast. I just hope the rancor monster isn’t still there.”

“Rakghouls and now a rancor?” Wren sighed, then gagged. “Ugh, I have got to stop doing that. Bring it on.”

“I was able to sneak past it before, so hopefully we’ll figure something out,” Mission said. “Anyway, off we go. Like I said, somewhere to the southeast. Just look for the force field and we’ll know we’re there.”

“I thought you said it was to the northeast?” Carth said hesitantly.

“Oh… did I?” Mission giggled uncomfortably. “Well, at least we know it’s east, right? I’m sure we’ll find it.” And she led the way back down the tunnel they’d come from.

It felt like hours before they finally saw the promising purple glow of the force field (it ended up being northeast). Wren stepped up to the terminal, but Mission stopped her. “You won’t be able to get past that shield unless you know the proper codes.” Wren opened her mouth to complain that she could have told them this before, but Mission plowed right on. “Lucky for you, I’ve got them. I picked them off the pocket of a Black Vulkar who had a _liiiiittle_ too much to drink in the cantina one night.” She stepped up to the terminal and started typing away. “Here, let me get that energy field down for you.” A few moments later, the field flickered out of existence. “There ya go!” The girl grinned proudly as she gestured to the now clear passage. “Just a little while more and we’ll be at that base. Don’t worry, I actually remember how to get there from here. And I’m sure you can handle that rancor, no problem.” She grinned brightly at Wren, which somehow didn’t reassure her much, and led the way into the next sewer tunnel and up a few ladders.

Mission actually did seem to know the way through this part of the sewers. That said, it was relatively straightforward, with far fewer forks and bends. There was still the occasional Gamorrean or Rakghoul, and once there was even a malfunctioning droid, firing in every conceivable direction. Wren tried to get close enough to disable it so she could reprogram it, but she ended up with a blaster bolt to her left shoulder, a smoking dent in her armor, and a pile of scrap at her feet. A shame, really.

Then, at the end of a long sloping corridor of sewer, they reached a closed door with a bloody arm next to it. The hand was clenched around a datapad, and a pouch near the shoulder contained three stoppered vials.

“Well that’s lucky,” Wren observed, skimming over the datapad. “This guy had the plan and the materials we need to get past the thing. He just didn’t quite manage to pull it off.”

“What does it say?” Mission asked.

“Well, these vials contain a scent that will attract the rancor—”

“And it hasn’t come out here and eaten them already?”

Wren shook her head. “They’re sealed _._ Very thoroughly. This guy wasn’t a complete moron, whoever he was. Anyway, the scent will attract the rancor, and theoretically that could convince it to eat, say, a grenade, or some other beautiful explosive device that will wreak havoc on its insides, hopefully killing it.”

“Hopefully?” Carth sounded doubtful.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll do the dangerous stuff. I just need to, I don’t know, put the grenade in some kind of vehicle, say, a body, for the rancor to eat, empty the vials on it, and then stand back and let nature run its course. As it were.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Carth said sarcastically. “Why didn’t you say so? In that case, feel free to go ahead with a crazy plan that could get you killed in a thousand and a half different ways.”

Wren sighed. _“Damn_ it!” she burst out as she gagged again. “Come on, Carth. I’ll be fine. Unless you have a better idea.”

She was met with silence.

“All right then. Everyone stand back.” Her hand went to her belt, where she activated her stealth unit, and she opened the door, picking up the three vials and keeping her hand on one of the grenades in her belt. She crept out into the room and got her first look at the rancor.

Her initial reaction was to thank the stars the thing was facing the other direction. She’d seen rancors before, but this one was _enormous,_ not to mention ugly and disgusting-looking, but all rancors were ugly and disgusting-looking so that wasn’t anything new. She kept half an eye on it as she made her way to what was probably its main feeding ground—a pile of corpses with various amounts of… ah, structural integrity. Gingerly picking through the pile, she selected one that looked not too chewed and stuffed the grenade in its pocket. After a moment’s thought, she shoved a second one in there for good measure. Then, as quickly as she could, she opened the vials, dumped them onto the body, dropped the empty vials, and started the countdown on both grenades. This would all be much easier if she had some kind of explosive with a remote detonator, she thought, as she crept away as fast as she possibly could while still keeping her footsteps quiet.

With a roar the rancor turned, sniffing wildly. It lumbered over to the corpse pile, sniffing around for whatever delicious (supposedly—Wren hadn’t actually wanted to smell it) odor was coming from the body.

_Come on, come on, come on,_ Wren thought as it bent low over the corpses. And then—thank the stars—it picked up the corpse in its jaws and swallowed it whole.

Nothing happened. Seemingly satisfied, the rancor let out another roar and turned, probably intending to return to whatever it had been doing at the other side of the room, but it stopped mid-turn, its beady, partially-obscured eyes fixed directly on Wren. She looked down.

_Shit._ She was completely visible—her stealth generator must have deactivated while she was planting the grenades—and she’d only gone about halfway across the room before turning to watch the progress of her plan. There was only one chance of her survival at this point.

She turned and ran like hell.

She charged across the room, barreling through the door and straight into an astonished Carth just as an explosion sounded behind her. Gripping Carth tightly so she wouldn’t fall over from her momentum, she turned just in time to see the second explosion. The rancor had roared in pain as the first grenade was set off, but by the second one it was already dead. It collapsed to the ground with a gaping, charred hole torn in its abdomen.

“Oof. If it hadn’t just tried to eat me, I’d almost feel sorry for it,” Wren said. “I mean, I’d hate to get blown up from the inside, you know?” She shrugged when no one responded and continued on through the rancor’s lair and to the other end, where a door awaited. “I take it this is it?”

“Yep!” Mission exclaimed. “One secret door into the Vulkar base! Now, why are we here?”

“Oh, right, I never did tell you that, did I? Other things to worry about at the time. Anyway, our associate is apparently being held captive by the Vulkars and is being offered up as the prize for the swoop race coming up. Gadon’s agreed to sponsor me as a racer for the Beks, provided I steal back his prototype swoop accelerator from the Vulkars. So we need to find that accelerator and get it back to Gadon so his mechanics can install it on a swoop before the race starts.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Mission shrugged. “I’m in.”

Wren smiled. “I like your enthusiasm. Still. Simple, yes. Easy? Not in a million years. The place will be crawling with Vulkars. Everyone be on your guard.”

And she opened the door, stepping to one side and tossing in a frag grenade. The two Vulkars inside staggered backward but didn’t fall—the grenade had fallen slightly short, and the blast had been absorbed by their energy shields. Zaalbar roared and charged in, swinging his vibroblade, and Mission followed close behind, dodging their blaster fire while Wren and Carth covered them from behind. It unfolded exactly how she knew it would, with a basic energy shield. They were utterly useless against the vibroblades, so the Vulkars quickly switched over to defending themselves with swords. After a bit more sustained blaster fire, their shields fizzled out, and they didn’t have an opportunity to reactivate them before Wren and Carth, taking advantage of the sword-wielding distractions of their companions, took them out with headshots.

Wren approached the bodies, unstrapping the shields from their arms. “There’s a few charges left on both of these,” she said, tossing one to Mission and one to Carth. “Be careful, they’re useless against swords, but they should give you an edge against a blaster.”

Mission scoffed, but strapped it on nonetheless. “I know how energy shields work, Wren, I don’t live under a rock.”

Wren cracked a smile. “You sure about that? I mean, you don’t exactly live aboveground, you know.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with the Lower City,” said MIssion proudly.

“Except the gang wars, people trying to shoot you on sight, and giving people away as swoop race prizes.”

Mission pouted. “All right, fine, you got me. Intergalactic slavery is kind of a downer.”

“So let’s find that accelerator before it becomes a problem.”

They entered the base and started killing everything that moved. Except—

“Please don’t kill me!” Wren stopped short as the girl groveled before them, hands in the air as though they’d shield her. “I just serve the food here! I’m not even a Vulkar!”

“Hey, calm down,” said Wren. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ada. My father couldn’t pay a debt to Davik, so Davik had him killed and sold me into slavery to pay it off.”

Wren gave a frustrated sigh, relieved when it didn’t cause her to gag. “Again with people taking out loans from crime lords. Does no one on this planet have common sense?”

Ada didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so she just stayed silent, looking up at Wren with fearful eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Brejik would keep a prototype swoop accelerator, would you?”

Ada shook her head, eyes still wide and fearful. “I—I don’t know. I’m just a slave, they don’t tell me anything. Y-you could—I guess you could interrogate one of the other Vulkars or something, they probably know.”

Wren nodded. “All right. You’re free to go. Can you get out all right? I’ve already killed the guards by the front door.”

Her eyes got, if possible, even wider. “I—I’m free to go? Y-you’re not going to kill me? Thank you! Thank you! I have to get out of here.” And she ran off.

Wren turned to Carth with a frown. “Do I look like a murderer?” she asked. “Wait. Wrong person to ask.” She turned to Mission. “Do I look like a murderer?”

“Well you _have_ been killing everything that moves in here. I mean, you even killed the cook!”

“He tried to _kick_ me to death!” Wren burst out. “It was self-defense!”

Mission just chuckled and walked away without saying anything, heading over to investigate the terminal in the big room they’d already cleared. A few moments of hacking and the door to the tiny room in the middle of the room sprang open. “Computer says that’s the armory,” she said. “Have at it, boys and girls.”

Wren switched out her backup vibroblade for one that the Vulkars had apparently upgraded, and she grabbed a couple upgrades for her blaster, as well as the five grenades she found in one of the footlockers. “You can never have too many grenades,” she told Carth when he gave her a sideways look.

“You can when one of them blows up in your face and you die.”

“Personal experience?” She winked. “Come on, Carth, I’ve been handling explosives since I was eight. I’ll be fine.”

“Somehow the idea of eight-year-old Wren with a grenade doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Well the galaxy survived and so did I. Anything interesting on that terminal, Mission?”

She puffed herself up proudly. “Room full of guys around the corner? One left. Knowing how to hack into power conduits is so useful. Other than that? There’s an elevator down to the garage guarded by three turrets, but I can’t hack the system—they’ve got some kind of advanced firewall in place. We’ll have to get our hands on a passcard.”

“Great. Let’s just keep killing everything until something turns up then.”

But barely two minutes later, **“Wait! I surrender!”** The Twi’lek raised his hands over his head. **“Don’t kill me! I’m not like Brejik and his new Vulkars! I joined the Vulkars when we had honor! When it meant something! Now they just kill things on the street for fun, and I’m stuck guarding this storeroom like I don’t matter at all!”**

“So… leave?”

**“You’re letting me go?”**

“Well… yeah. Actually, hold on.” He looked up, terrified. “You happen to know where Brejik would keep a stolen swoop bike accelerator?”

**“Down in the garage, probably. If I had a passcard I’d give it to you, but I’m not important enough. There are a bunch of lieutenants in the next room over—at least one of them should have one. Good luck. I hope you take Brejik and his Vulkars down!”** He dashed out of the room at top speed, heading for the door.

Wren stared after him, bemused. “Why is it that everyone’s surprised I’m not killing them after they surrender?”

Mission patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Being with the Vulkars too long will do that to a person.”

Not entirely reassured, Wren continued to watch where the Twi’lek had disappeared. “I guess…” She glanced briefly at Carth before turning back to the task at hand. His face was unreadable. A good sign? Maybe. She could never tell with him.

The next room, as Mission had predicted, was full of corpses, with one man left living—a Nikto. At the sight of them, he roared with rage and charged, but his fury made him vulnerable. Zaalbar finished him off without much difficulty. Wren, meanwhile, was searching the pockets of the corpses. She found a few hundred credits, a couple of their useless shock sticks, and—

“Aha!” she cried, holding the passcard aloft. “Perfect. Let’s get to the garage. We can get that accelerator and head back to Gadon. We have…” she checked her chrono. “Less than two days until the race. Let’s make it count.”

The other three followed her back through the base and to the elevator. She inserted the passcard into the door, and the door sprang open, revealing three deactivated turrets guarding the elevator. Giving the turrets a disdainful look, Wren moved past them into the elevator, pushing the button for the bottom floor when they had all entered it.

The elevator ride was very short. Wren stepped out first, and she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Carth demanded, instantly on alert.

Wren was smiling broadly. “Nothing,” she said. “Look! Deactivated droids.” She approached the first and cracked open its casing. She worked on it for a couple minutes, tweaking with its programming, until she finally stepped back and closed a panel, satisfied with her work. The droid had restored weapons, restored shields, and a brand new protocol to find and kill Vulkars. She then repeated the process with the smaller, crab-like droid, sending it on its way after its fellow. She sighed contentedly.

“You really have a thing about droids, don’t you?” Carth asked.

“I don’t have a _thing,_ ” Wren objected. “I like them.” And she walked away before he could argue.

They fought their way through the garage level, too, though the droids had already cleared many of the Vulkars by the time they got there.

Finally they came to a room nestled into the corner of a hallway. “I think this is it,” said Wren. “Be on your guard. It’s probably well guarded.”

Carth drew his blaster. Mission and Zaalbar readied their vibroblades. Wren nodded at them, and they all nodded back. _Ready._

She hit the door control and entered in the lead, pointing the blaster directly at one of the two Twi’leks who stood in the foreground. Two guard droids waited in the background.

**“Ah, there you are,”** said the Twi’lek she was targeting. **“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Lackeys conned by Gadon into stealing Brejik’s swoop accelerator, no doubt.”**

“Brejik stole that engine from Gadon!” Mission snapped. “It was never yours to begin with!”

**“Well we didn’t go to all the trouble of stealing it just to have you steal it back,”** The Twi’lek snapped.

**“Shall I kill them, Kandon?”** asked the female Twi’lek in a sultry voice.

Kandon held up a hand. **“Not just yet, darling. You there.”** He indicated Wren. **“I see you’re not wearing the Hidden Bek colors. That must make you a freelancer.”**

“Not exactly sure where you’re going with this, but yeah, I guess so.” Wren shrugged.

**“I have a better offer for you. Come work for us. We could use someone as talented as you on our side.”**

Wren looked skeptical. “Give me the details and I’ll think about it.”

Mission looked scandalized. “You’re thinking of betraying Gadon? After everything he—”

Wren held up a hand. “Wait for it, Mission. It’ll be good, I promise.”

**“Here’s the deal,”** said Kandon. **“Return to Gadon without the accelerator. Kill him. Then return to us and we will sponsor you for the swoop race.”**

“Yeah, but see, I see several problems with that,” Wren said, counting them off on her fingers. “One: I’m already here. The engine accelerator is also here. Two: the only thing standing between it and me is you four, and I’ve already killed the most dangerous person on Taris, apparently, so you can’t be that difficult to fight. Three: if I go back there without it, they’ll get suspicious. And if I kill Gadon, everyone in that base will attack me. Four: I’ve already wiped out _your_ entire base, and wiping out another entire base when my other option is just killing you four seems a bit excessive. Five—do you really need me to go on?”

Kandon’s partner fidgeted excitedly. **“Now can I kill them Kandon?”**

Kandon stroked a hand down one of her lekku. **“Yes darling. Kill them all.”**

The guard droids in back were taken down with several shots each from Wren and Carth. Mission, meanwhile, engaged the female Twi’lek, who was wielding a double-bladed sword. And Zaalbar engaged Kandon. Wren moved to the opposite side of the room to expand their vantage point, and she started firing into the duels whenever she could get a clear shot.

Especially considering she was fourteen, Mission was damn good with a vibroblade. She spun and blocked and dodged the Twi’lek’s spinning double sword, and eventually managed to slip past her defenses and stab her in the stomach. The woman fell, and Mission kicked her sword across the room, just in case. A few moments later, a sword swipe from Zaalbar combined with a blaster shot from Carth caused Kandon to fall to the ground, equally dead.

Wren, meanwhile, had already proceeded around the corner and disabled and recovered the sonic mine that she’d found set there. Behind it—

“Finally,” she breathed, picking up the accelerator and stuffing it in her backpack. “Let’s get back to Gadon, shall we? I could use a bath and a good night’s sleep.”

____________________________ 

“I was wondering if you’d be back.” Gadon greeted them with a pleased smile. “The race is tomorrow, and our mechanics need time to install the accelerator on the swoop bike.”

“All right, Gadon, I held up my end of the bargain,” she said, placing the accelerator on Gadon’s desk. “Or, Carth’s end, rather. Still, you better come through.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Gadon smiling. “You’ve done us a huge favor, so I’ll hold up my end of the deal to let you or your friend race for the Beks. And I’ll even go one better. I’ll let you ride the bike with the accelerator installed.”

“Gadon, you can’t be serious!” snapped Zaerdra, his bodyguard. “We need one of our best riders on that bike! We can’t let some rookie take the prototype into the race.”

Wren pinched her lips together, furrowing her brow. “Yeah, that’s awfully generous of you. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I, uh, I have to be honest with you, there’s a reason I’m letting you take the prototype,” Gadon confessed. “The accelerator isn’t stable. There’s a good chance it may explode during the race. If you win before it does that, you win for the Beks and you get your friend back. If you die—” Wren felt Carth tense at her side, “—one of my other riders could still come through for me.”

“You’ve sure got all your bases covered,” Wren observed.

“You don’t get to be leader of a swoop gang without knowing how to work all the angles,” Gadon agreed.

Wren took a deep breath. Exhaled. “All right. I’m in. Now, is there somewhere I can take a bath? I was lost in a sewer for  _hours._ ”

Gadon gestured for another Bek to come over, and instructed him to lead them to their rooms. Mission and Zaalbar followed.

When they’d reached the rooms, Mission and Zaalbar had entered, and the Bek had left, Carth grabbed Wren by the arm. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure?” She let him pull her off to one side.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. “I mean, I know we have to rescue Bastila and all, but is it really worth—”

“According to you, it’s worth just about anything, up to and including your life. I don’t see why that should exclude mine.”

“You don’t even _like_ Jedi!” he pointed out.

“Carth Onasi, are you trying to convince me to change my mind?” She paused for a second. “You’re not _worried_ about me, are you?” She let the smirk twist her features and waited for Carth to make the next move.

“Damn it if you’re not the most frustrating woman to talk to!” he exclaimed.

Wren let out a little huff of disbelief at that. _“I’m_ frustrating? Look who’s talking!”

He looked around as though she might be talking about someone else. “Who, me? What did I do?”

She actually laughed aloud. “You don’t know. Typical male. But Carth—”

“Look. Wren. Just be careful, is all I’m saying. I’m sure Zaalbar would never forgive himself if you died.”

“Ah, of course, you’re worried about Zaalbar’s feelings. Shouldn’t have got my hopes up you actually cared.” Her tone was joking, but there was an element of truth to her words. Almost against her will, she’d come to care about Carth, about his history, about his opinions. And she’d started to hope that the feeling was mutual, but it seemed now she was wrong, or at least he wouldn’t admit it. She never should have expected anything else, really. “I’m racing and you can’t convince me otherwise, okay? Good night, Carth.” And she headed into the room she would be sharing with Mission, feeling a pang in her chest that she didn’t want to identify.


	4. Bastila

She didn’t bother waking the others in the morning. She’d just go, win the race (she had to win, she had to) and meet them back here. She dressed quickly and quietly, but of course nothing got past Mission.

“Where do you think you’re off to?” she asked from her bed.

Wren whipped around. She’d been just about to leave and hadn’t seen Mission wake up. “The race,” she said.

“Without me? I’m offended.” Mission put on a look of mock hurt and then shrugged. “I’ll see you at the track. We won’t be allowed down in the pit with you, but we can watch from the view screens. We’ll be cheering for you!”

Wren offered a small smile. “Thanks Mission.”

An Ithorian mechanic was waiting for her when she entered the racing pit. **“You’re the freelancer racing for the Beks, right?”**

She nodded.

**“You raced before?”**

She nodded again. “Plenty.”

**“Then you know the rules. All you have to do to get a heat started is talk to the official over behind that desk.”** The Ithorian indicated a Duros who was staring at a computer screen and looking bored. Then he jumped, swore, and began typing furiously. A team of what appeared to be emergency responders was running in the direction of the track. **“And one more thing,”** the Ithorian added. **“Like Gadon told you, the accelerator is unstable. It** **_probably_** **won’t explode and vaporize you in less than a second, but just in case. You’ve probably got four or five safe heats until it starts overheating, so get some good times in and make it count!”**

“Will do.” Wren approached the official’s desk. He looked up absent-mindedly.

**“You’re going to have to wait another couple minutes,”** the Duros said. **“They’re still finishing up scraping the last guy off the track. Bad business, bad business. Who are you racing for?”**

“The Hidden Beks.”

**“Ah, good, yes. Always liked them. All right, you’re all into the system, so once they finish with the last guy, you’ll be free to go.  I’ll tell you when they’re ready.”**

Wren nodded and stepped off to one side. For the first time, she noticed that right beside the official’s desk was a small cage, and within the cage was a woman, upright but apparently unaware of her surroundings.

_Bastila._ She was so close. But she couldn’t risk trying to break her out now, not when she could win her fairly, and without a fight. If someone else tried to take her, though… all bets were off.

**“The track is ready, human!”** the Duros called from behind her.

“What’s the time to beat?” she asked him.

**“0:38:42. Not bad, but not the best I’ve ever seen. Get out there and try not to die.”**

“Encouraging,” she muttered.

Out on the track, she mounted the bike that the mechanic had brought out for her and tested all its levers to make sure it was fully functional. It wouldn’t do to go out there only to discover she had a faulty brake, or couldn’t change gears and ended up exploding from the overheating engine.

Satisfied that everything was working right, Wren nodded to herself, took a deep breath, and watched the lights.

Red.

Yellow.

_Go._

She relied solely on instinct—it always served her best in these scenarios. She couldn’t quite explain it, but trying to think her way through the course was always less effective than simply letting her instincts take over.

And this was no exception. Not having seen the course before, she wasn’t able to hit every speed pad, and she grazed a couple bits of debris, but she beat the top time easily, scoring in at 0:29:38.

The crowd in the distance roared its approval as she left the track, the mechanic congratulating her as he came to get the bike. **“You did it! You got the top time! You just beat racers who’ve been doing this for twenty years!”**

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Wren asked with a smile.

_________________________ 

Mission jumped out of her seat with a loud cheer as Wren crossed the finish line. She was the only one who was reacting properly to this race, she reflected. Zaalbar was over in the cantina section hovering over a plate of food (as usual) and Carth in the seat next to her was completely rigid, hands gripping the armrests of his seat and white as a sheet.

“Geez, Carth, it’s almost like you think she’s gonna die or something,” Mission commented.

Rather than lightening the mood as she’d intended, however, Carth merely gripped the armrests tighter. “Don’t remind me,” he gritted out.

“Geez, Carth, she’s gonna be fine. Have a little faith. It’s not like you trying to squeeze your chair into a different shape is going to help her at all, ya know.”

Deciding Carth was boring, Mission stood up, aiming to wander around a little bit until Wren had to race another heat. 29 seconds was good, but it was beatable. And it was still pretty early on in the day; someone else was bound to beat her time, at which point, Mission knew, she would go out there and kick their asses one more time, as many times as she needed to.

That was when she saw him. _What was he doing here?_ It was the Mandalorian they’d met in the Undercity, who Wren seemed to get along with so well. Didn’t he have work to do for the big bad crime lord?

Deciding it was well within her power to find out, Mission headed over to where he was sitting. “Don’t you have some job or other for your big bad crime lord boss?”

The Mandalorian looked up at her like she was barely worth his time. “Get lost, kid. I don’t have time to sign autographs.”

“I don’t need an autograph, I just wondered what a big scary Mandalorian is doing watching the swoop race.”

Evidently deciding that she wasn’t going to leave until he answered her, he said, “It pays to be up to date on events, especially in the middle of a gang war. Now get lost or I’ll make you.”

Despite being absolutely certain there was more to it, Mission decided to call a retreat for the moment. If Wren was involved, which she suspected she was, she’d find out eventually.

Just then the screen flashed a new score: 0:27:31. Redros, one of the Vulkars, charged off the track and cheered his own victory. Mission snorted. Moron. Wren would tear him apart, especially now she’d gotten a feel for the track.

Mission settled back into her seat, fully prepared to watch the greatest swoop heat she’d ever seen.

________________________ 

Down below, Wren was feeling similarly confident, though perhaps not to the extent that Mission was. She approached the official, asking for another heat, and he told her she could be up next. She waited another minute for the person before her to clear off the track, eyes on Bastila the whole time (the only time she took her eyes _off_ Bastila was to race) and then everything was ready. She lined up her swoop again. Took a deep breath. Let go of conscious thought.

_Go._

Even if her conscious mind didn’t fully remember the track from only one run, her instincts did. She flew down the track, feeling the debris whizzing by inches from her legs, gliding effortlessly over the booster pads. Her ponytail whipped the air behind her, the strands of hair that framed her face flying out of it. And then she closed her eyes.

She was free, free in a way that she hadn’t been in a very long time, not since the Republic found her. No Republic to tell her what to do, no Carth looking over her shoulder commenting on her every move, no Wookiee and young Twi’lek depending on her judgment for survival. Just Wren, and the bike, and the swoop track.

She opened her eyes again a few moments before she skidded across the finish line, bringing the bike to a very quick halt. She was so exhilarated that she entirely forgot to check her time—until the crowd started cheering uproariously, that is. Her eyes found the scoreboard: 0:21:16. Her exhilarated grin widened in triumph, and she pumped a fist in the air. There was no way anyone was going to beat that, and she’d love to see them try.

And for the next couple hours, they did. Tried, and tried, and tried. But the closest anyone got was 0:23:45. And at last, an end to the racing was called and the racers gathered in the pit for the award ceremony.

**“Put your hands together for the most daring racer this track has ever seen!”** the announcer cried. The crowd cheered loudly as Wren took a bow. **“And now, here to present the champion with the prize, I give you Brejik, the leader of the Black Vulkars!”**

More cheering. An armored man stepped forward, and Wren resisted the urge to sneer at him. She got the impression of someone who was about to try and weasel out of something he regretted.

And she wasn’t wrong. “People, hear me!” Brejik called out. Even his voice made her want to squash his face into the pavement. “Before I present the so-called _champion_ of the Beks with her prize, there is something you must know: the winning rider cheated!”

Wren didn’t even bother restraining her sneer this time. She stepped forward to confront the bastard directly. “You’d better not be trying to cheat me, Brejik!” she shouted.

He sneered right back. “Your swoop bike was using a prototype accelerator—clearly an unfair advantage!”

Wren was seething. _“You_ were going to use it, you ass!”

Brejik chose to ignore her. “Because of this Hidden Bek treachery, I am withdrawing the Vulkars’ share of the victory prize!”

Wren’s fury boiled over and froze solid. She took a step closer to Brejik, right into his personal space. He was at least four inches taller than her, but she didn’t care. She got right in his face. “If you lay a _shabla_ _finger_ on her,” Wren gestured at Bastila, “I will gut you like the slimy little fish you are, is that clear?” Her tone was perfectly steady, but her eyes flashed with fire.

Brejik jeered. “As if you could. No, if I want to withdraw the prize and sell this woman on the slave market myself, nothing can stop me!”

“I might have something to say about that, Brejik,” interjected another voice.

Bastila was conscious, fully alert, and glaring daggers at Brejik. As Wren and the others watched, she shoved the guard outside her cage aside with the Force, pushed open the cage, also with the Force, and kicked the guard as hard as she could in the head. If he wasn’t dead, he was at least severely concussed. Bastila then knelt down, picked up the double-bladed sword he’d been wielding, and brandished it.

_“What?”_ demanded Brejik. “You were restrained by a neural disruptor! How could you possibly have summoned the will to free yourself?”

Bastila gave him a superior look. “You underestimate the strength of a Jedi’s mind, Brejik—a mistake you won’t live to regret!”

_Could she do that the whole time? Did I just race two heats in which I could have exploded completely needlessly?_ Impressive as her entrance had been, her presence stirred a squirming mass in Wren’s stomach—the embodiment of her distrust of the Jedi. But right now she had bigger problems.

“Vulkars!” cried Brejik. “To me! Kill her! Kill the swoop rider! Kill them all!”

The fight was brief. Four Vulkars and Brejik didn't stand a chance against Wren and a Jedi. Bastila focused all her attention on dueling Brejik, while Wren kept the others away from them by shooting them down before they could approach the duel. Several seconds after Wren had downed the last Vulkar, Bastila felled Brejik with a final cut of her double-bladed sword.

“Well maybe those bloody Vulkars will think twice next time before trying to keep a Jedi prisoner,” she muttered angrily to herself. Then she whirled on Wren. “And as for you, if you think you can collect me as a prize—” She stopped short, eyes going wide and her face paling considerably. “Wait, I—I don’t believe this! You’re—you’re one of the soldiers with the Republic fleet, aren’t you? Yes, I’m sure of it. How did you end up racing for these swoop gangs?”

“Long story,” Wren said shortly.

“Well we don’t have time for it now. We have to get out of here before the Sith show up to sort out this mess. Is there somewhere safe we can go?”

“Yes, we’ve been using an apartment as a base. The plan was to bring you back there and regroup after we rescued you.”

Bastila scoffed. “Rescue me? Is that what you were trying to accomplish by riding in that swoop race? Well, as far as rescues go this is a pretty poor example.”

Wren didn’t think she had ever hated a Jedi more than in that moment. _“Excuse you,”_ she snapped. “As I recall, you were a helpless prisoner, pretty much catatonic in that cage until I came along! I’d say that qualifies as a rescue.”

Bastila gave her the most utterly condescending look she had ever seen. “I may have been a prisoner, but a Jedi is never helpless. Maybe you’ve heard of a little thing called ‘the Force’?”

“Right, and you can absolutely use the Force when you’re catatonic in a neural restraint collar. Obviously. Why didn’t I think of that? Or, better yet, why didn’t you think of that earlier so I didn’t have to go crawling through _sewers_ in order to try and get you out of this?”

“In case you didn’t notice, I managed to free myself from the collar without your help. In fact, I think it’s more accurate to say that I saved you.” Wren opened her mouth to protest, but Bastila continued, heedless. “Brejik and his Vulkars would have left you for dead if I hadn’t stepped into that fight. You’re lucky I was here to get you out of this mess.”

Goading and taunting she could take. Unparalleled hubris was to be expected from a Jedi. But to start belittling Wren and all the effort she’d put into finding her and, yes, rescuing her? Unforgivable.

“I think you’re getting things a little confused,” she sneered, stepping closer to look directly into Bastila’s face. “Maybe you should have your brain checked out, make sure that collar didn’t damage it at all. See, twenty minutes ago while the races were still going on, you seemed pretty helpless to me. If you want to prove that you’re a special little Jedi like you seem to think you are, how about I sell you back to the Vulkars and we can see about letting you rescue yourself, hmm?”

Bastila was looking downright afraid— _good_ , thought Wren savagely, and she reached out a hand, trying to calm her. 

"Don't _touch_ me!" Wren snapped, jerking away, but Bastila's hand brushed her arm anyway, and abruptly, the world faded away. 

_She was standing on a deck—a ship?—as a Jedi she now recognized as Bastila cut down a Dark Jedi. But the vision continued this time, unlike what had happened when the escape pod crashed._ _  
_

_Wren saw her hand in front of her, squeezing into a fist—and at the same moment a Republic officer who stood in front of her crumpled to the ground, dead, his neck broken._

_Had she done that?_ _  
_

_Bastila and three other Jedi stood before her, readying their lightsabers. Bastila stepped forward._ _  
_

_"You cannot win, Revan!" she declared._ _  
_

Revan? _  
_

_She silently brandished a lightsaber she didn't remember taking out, and then—_ _  
_

_An explosion. From behind._ Malak, _she thought, without really knowing why. And she felt herself fading, even as Bastila crawled up next to her and peered into her face, reaching for her mask..._

Wren inhaled sharply as she woke, trying to sit up, but she found her movement restricted. A moment of panic was relieved when she heard a familiar voice above her. "Easy there, beautiful, it's just me." 

"C-Carth?" 

"That's the one. Take some deep breaths. Do you think you can walk? We're almost back to the apartment." 

She looked up, eyes finding Carth's face. His eyes were still concerned, but his face showed overwhelming relief. Had he been...worried? 

She realized he was still waiting for an answer. "I...I think so," she ventured, so he gently set her down, grasping her shoulder to steady her as she regained her footing. 

She glanced around. Mission and Zaalbar were hovering nearby, looking concerned, while Bastila stood a little farther off. Was it her imagination, or was Bastila still pale? 

Carth waved them all off. "You three go on ahead. We'll meet you there. Go into the complex and turn left, it's the third apartment you'll come to." 

Mission looked like she wanted to say something, but Carth gave her a significant look and she nodded, taking the lead. Zaalbar and Bastila trailed behind her. 

Carth turned to Wren. "Sorry about that." He lowered his voice, his hand still on her shoulder. "What happened back there? Are you all right?" 

Wren hesitated. 

"It's okay," Carth said softly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I figured...you should have someone to talk to. Mission's sweet, and… and talented, but she's still a kid. Zaalbar...well, he doesn't talk much. And I don't have to ask to know you'd rather walk right off this walkway than confide in Bastila. So... if you need to talk..." 

Overwhelmed, both by the vision itself and by Carth’s thoughtfulness, Wren couldn't find words. She simply took a step closer and put her arms around him. He tensed for a moment, not expecting it, but then he relaxed, his arms encircling her in return. 

"Thank you," she whispered. "I—I'll tell you, I just need a moment." 

After a few more seconds, she pulled away, pulling herself together. "I—back at the beginning, right after the Endar Spire, I had...some kind of vision. I didn't tell anyone since...well, Jedi. Visions are a Jedi thing, and I..." 

Carth nodded, understanding. 

"I saw Bastila, though at the time I didn't know who she was. She killed a Dark Jedi, and that was it. When—when she touched me...it happened again, but—more. I saw the same vision again, but this time it continued. She and some other Jedi were confronting—" she hesitated for a fraction of a second, "—Revan. There was an explosion, and Revan fell, and Bastila managed to stay conscious while the other Jedi were knocked out. She crawled forward, looked into Revan's face. Then it all went dark." 

Carth nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he looked up at her. "Are you all right, Wren?" 

She met his eyes for several seconds in silence, trying to figure out what to say. Much as the feeling might not be mutual, she _trusted_ Carth, more than anyone she’d met since she lost her smuggling crew so long ago. 

"No," she said honestly. "No. It's not just the Jedi thing, though that scares the shit out of me if I'm being honest. I don't want visions, or the Force, or anything to do with them. But—but that's not all. In the vision, I was...I saw it through Revan's eyes. I was… I _was…_ Revan. And...part of me wishes I knew why, the other part is scared to even think about it, you know?" 

"Hey, it's okay. Maybe it was just a dream, or maybe there's some explanation." 

"Carth, I watched myself crush the life out of someone. That's... I didn't..." 

"Shh, beautiful, it wasn't you. That was Revan. As for you seeing it through Revan’s eyes… I don’t have an answer for you. I’m sure there’s an explanation, but..." He looked her dead in the eye. "No one else has to know. I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to. Okay? If anything else... happens, you can talk to me whenever you need to." 

She nodded. "Thank you, Carth." 

"Now, we should probably be getting back. The others are probably getting suspicious." 

Wren rolled her eyes, and just like that she was back to her usual self. "You're the only one who gets suspicious if someone's gone too long, flyboy." 

"Not what I meant."

Wren stopped dead in her tracks when she realized what he had meant, then she burst out laughing. "Bet Bastila's going nuts, hm?" 

"Between you and me, beautiful, she's already nuts. Most Jedi probably are." 

"You got that right. Let's go."

________________________

They arrived back at the apartment to find Mission playing Pazaak with Zaalbar over Wren’s workbench and determinedly ignoring Bastila, who was standing off to the side with her arms crossed.

“You kids playing nice?” Wren joked.

“I ain’t no kid!” Mission snapped. _“She,_ on the other hand…” She pointed at Bastila without looking, her nose still buried in her cards.

Bastila huffed but didn’t deny it. Wren was amused. “I’ll take that as a _no,_ ” she said. “Should’ve hired a babysitter.”

“Anyway,” Carth cut in, seeing Bastila looking like she was about to throw a fit. “We’re all here; now we just have to figure out a way to get off this planet.”

Bastila gave him the most condescending, haughty expression Wren had ever had the displeasure of seeing. She bristled.

“You mean you don’t even have a way to get off Taris yet? What have you been _doing_ all this time?”

Wren glared at her. “Oh, I don’t know. Let me think. Oh, yes, there was all the partying we were doing. Lots of booze, lots of gambling. The occasional dancing. Let’s see, what else… well, I fought in the dueling ring a few times so we wouldn’t starve, I saved some girl from being hunted down and killed for defending herself, _I_ almost got killed trying to take down the most dangerous assassin on Taris, oh, yeah, and there was something about rescuing a Jedi? Not quite clear on that bit, but I think it involved a lot of walking around, a lot of information-gathering, and a _hell_ of a lot of almost dying!”

Bastila scoffed. “Well, now that I’m in charge of this mission, perhaps we can start doing things properly. Hopefully our escape from Taris will go more smoothly than when you ‘rescued’ me from Brejik.”

It was the air quotes that did it. Wren took an aggressive step towards her. “Now, listen here, you—”

Carth gripped her by the shoulder, pulling her back. She turned her glare on him, but he just gave her a look that said, _Now is not the time,_ so she backed down. Slightly.

“I know you’re new at this, Bastila, but a leader doesn’t berate her troops just because things aren’t going as planned. Don’t let your ego get in the way of the real issues here.” Wren cheered Carth on silently. Maybe Bastila would listen to him—Wren at least knew she respected him a little bit.

No such luck. “That hardly strikes me as an appropriate way of addressing your commander, _Carth._ I am a member of the Jedi Order and this is my mission—don’t forget that!”

“Oh, that was one thing I forgot, Carth,” Wren said, turning to him. “When I was telling you why I _don’t like Jedi._ Every time a Jedi goes somewhere, they’re automatically put in charge. No matter who it is, no matter what the situation, whether or not they have any experience in the matter and regardless if there’s someone more qualified. And then they get all prissy and entitled when people try to tell them they’re _doing it wrong!”_ This last was directed at Bastila, and Wren had to struggle to keep herself from shouting.

Bastila glanced haughtily at Wren, making it perfectly clear that she was ignoring her ( _real mature,_ thought Wren) and turned back to Carth. “My Battle Meditation has helped the Republic many times in the past, and it will serve us well here, I am sure.”

But Carth wasn’t done, not by a long shot. “Your talents might win us a few battles, but that doesn’t make you a good leader. A good leader would at least listen to the advice of those who’ve seen more combat than she ever will.”

“Are you sure we can’t give her back to what’s left of the Vulkars?” Wren asked Carth offhandedly. “I mean, hell, I’d even be willing to pay _them_ at this point—they’d deserve it, for all they’ll have to suffer putting up with her.”

“You know, I had my doubts about this mission, but I figured the Jedi Council wouldn’t put you in charge if you weren’t prepared. Yet here you are, acting like a spoiled child!” _Good one, Carth,_ Wren thought appreciatively.

_“Hey!”_ a voice echoed through the room. “Ya know, this fight is great and all, but I want to get out of here just as much as the rest of ya, and this isn’t helping,” Mission pointed out.

They all just looked at her for a second, dumbstruck. Then Bastila took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course,” she said stiffly. “I apologize, Carth.” Wren didn’t miss the fact that she _only_ apologized to Carth. “Of course I’m happy to listen to your advice. What do you suggest we do?”

“First off, we can’t get hung up on who’s in charge,” Carth stated firmly. “We all need to work _together_ if we’re going to get off this rock. The answer’s out there, we just have to find it.”

Bastila nodded approvingly. “Well said, Carth. And the sooner we start looking, the better. I’ve already been a prisoner of the Vulkars and I don’t plan on being captured by the Sith.”

“Good,” said Wren. “Then you’ll understand why I think it’s probably a good idea for you to stay here.”

“What? How could you possibly—”

“I think she’s right, Bastila,” Carth agreed. “We’re on a Sith-occupied world, they’re scouring the planet for you. It doesn’t make sense for you to be wandering the streets with us.”

Mission snorted at the look on Bastila’s face. “Yeah, maybe do your Battle thingy or whatever. Give us an edge over all those nasty Sith.” She winked.

Bastila heaved a deep sigh that sounded like half a growl. “Very well, I see your point. I shall remain here and attempt to meditate.”

**“I will stay as well,”** said Zaalbar.

“If you want,” said Wren, shrugging. “Mission?”

“Oh, I’m coming!” the Twi’lek cried, scrambling to her feet and grabbing her blaster and her vibroblade. “Uh, where are we going?”

“I suggest you start by asking around in the cantinas,” said Bastila. As they were heading for the door, however, she spoke again, this time directly to Wren. “Is something wrong? You seem as though something is troubling you.”

Wren raised an eyebrow coldly. “Nothing I feel like discussing with you, thanks,” she said, and left the apartment.

She almost ran straight into a Twi’lek who seemed as though he’d been about to knock on their door.

**“You there! Human!”** he cried when he’d overcome his shock. **“You are the rider who won the swoop race, no?”**

Wren was instantly on guard. “How the hell did you find me?”

He ignored the question. **“Canderous Ordo has a message for you. He wishes to meet with you in the cantina. He claims it is urgent, and that he has an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”**

“Canderous, hm? The Mandalorian? All right, I’m game. I’ll be there.”

**“I would advise you to hurry. Mandalorians are renowned for many things, but patience is not one of them.”**

Carth and Mission joined the conversation in time to hear the last sentence before the Twi’lek dashed off again. “What was that about?” Carth asked.

Wren contemplated for a second. “I think I may have just found us our ticket out of here.”


	5. Breaking and Entering but Mostly Breaking

Canderous Ordo was sitting with his feet up on a table, drinking Tarisian Ale straight out of the jug. He raised the jug in greeting as Wren approached. “So, you got my message. Good, good.”

“Your messenger said you had an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Wren said, curious in spite of herself.

“And he was right. Have a seat. Let’s talk business.” Canderous moved his feet to the floor and leaned forward.

Wren sat. Mission and Carth hovered awkwardly in the background, listening in but obviously not included in the conversation. Wren suspected that Canderous had intended this.

“I saw you in the swoop race,” the Mandalorian said. “Very impressive. You seem like the kind of person who can get results. Just the kind of person I need.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up a second. You were at the swoop race too? How exactly is it that you manage to be exactly wherever it is I’m going? You following me, Ordo? Buy me a drink first.” She winked.

Canderous chuckled, his eyes flicking up and behind her before returning to her face. “It’s my business to know things on Taris. The Lower City and the Undercity were missions for Davik—coincidence. And the swoop race—well, I’d be neglecting my job, such as it is, if I _wasn’t_ there.

“The fact that I _was_ there, however, opens up a nice opportunity for the both of us. Ready to hear it?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one. Trust me. I work for Davik, as you know. The hours aren’t great, but he promised me a fortune to work for him, and I have nothing better to do. Mandalorian mercs like me are in high demand. But lately Davik hasn’t been paying me what he promised. I don’t like getting cheated, so I figure it’s about time to break the Sith blockade and get out of the ass end of the galaxy. Care to join me?”

“You asking me on a date, Ordo?” Wren adopted a carefully practiced negotiating smile. “Give me the details.”

“I’ve already got a plan, but I can’t pull it off alone. I need someone I know can get the job done to help me. That’s where you come in… so to speak.” He smirked.

“Careful,” said Carth from behind her. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “Mercs like this haven’t a lick of conscience. They’ll betray you in a heartbeat. This could be a trap.”

“I ain’t talking to you. I’m talking to your friend here, aren’t I?”

“That,” Wren put in, “and the fact that you think _anyone and everyone_ will betray you in a heartbeat, myself included. So forgive me if I don’t assign too much priority to that viewpoint.” She turned back to Canderous. “Sounds like fun. What do I need to do?”

“I saw you win that swoop race and started thinking. Anyone crazy enough to race like that is probably crazy enough to break into the Sith military base. I need someone to steal the Sith launch codes from the base. Without those codes, any ship trying to leave the planet will be disintegrated by the Sith’s automated defense guns.”

“Motivate me. Why should I?”

“Here’s the deal: you steal those codes, and I can provide the vehicle to get off the planet: Davik’s flagship, the _Ebon Hawk.”_

Wren whistled. “How are you going to pull that off?”

Canderous smirked. “Uh-uh-uh, not yet. First you bring me those launch codes. Then I’ll tell you the rest of my plan.”

“A smart merc,” Wren mused. “How about that?” A pause. “I’m in. Drinks afterward?”

Canderous laughed. “You help me get off this rock and I’ll buy you all the drinks you could ever want.”

A mischievous grin split Wren’s face. “You might regret that promise, Ordo. I’ll hold you to it.” She thought for a moment. “So how am I supposed to get in there? I mean, I could hack the lock, sure, but it’d take me ages, and there’s no way I could pull it off without being seen.”

“You’re right about that. The Sith base has some of the best security out there. You’d need a top of the line astromech droid to hack through it.” 

“And…?”

“Fortunately for you, I know just the droid you need. Davik was having one custom-built by Janice Nall. Just tell her Canderous sent you and she’ll sell you the droid. Then you can use it to get the launch codes from the Sith base.”

“I’m always up for a new droid. But why do you need me? Why not do this yourself?”

“Normally I would, but everyone knows who I work for. If I broke into the Sith base, they’d send an army down on Davik’s estate to get those codes back. That’s why I need you.”

“Fair enough. I’ll find you when I’ve got the codes.”

“I’m going to hang around Javyar’s Cantina in the Lower City. Find me there when you’re ready for the next stage of the plan.”

She gave him a mock salute, and he stood, slapping a credit chip down on the table and taking the jug with him. Wren stood, stretching.

Carth stepped up beside her. “You sure about this?”

“You see a better option, Carth? Besides, if we’re getting out of here, we’re going to need those launch codes regardless of how we intend on doing it. This is in our best interest.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“Ooh!” Mission raised her hand. “Can I get the droid?”

“Not sure she’ll sell to a fourteen-year-old, Mission. Carth, go with her. Also—” she pulled out a vial of the rakghoul serum. “Take this to Zelka Forn in the medical center. I’ve got some business to take care of here.”

“What sort of business?”

“Becoming the Taris dueling champion, that’s what. I’ve got two more duelists to beat. Hopefully I can make at least a few hundred more credits doing it. Good enough for you?”

“Be careful,” was all he said in response. He and Mission walked out of the cantina, and Wren turned left into the dueling area. Duncan and Gerlon were absent today, but Ice glared at her as she entered. Wren decided _not_ to talk to her—too much angry in one conversation could go downhill really quickly. Twitch stood alone in his usual corner, and Marl appeared to be chatting with some fans.

“You’re next, old man,” Wren muttered to herself, grinning. She stepped up to the Hutt. “Much as I still disagree with my name, Ajuur, I’d like to fight another duel.”

**“Ah, Stranger, I knew you’d be back. They always come back. Time for you to fight Marl, I think. He may be old, but he’s still one of the best duelists we’ve ever seen. If you beat him, it’s only Twitch standing between you and the championship.”**

“Then let’s get this show on the road!” Wren exclaimed.

This was the fight she was most worried about. Marl used a sword, and she was renowned (perhaps not in the ring, as she’d never used one there, but at least in her own head) for being weak with swords. She couldn’t help remembering what had happened with Selven. Was it her imagination, or was her side still sore from that? It had only been a few days, after all.

It didn’t matter. It was too late to back out now, and at the worst she’d be unconscious, maybe with a bad bruise. And everyone would know how bad she was with a sword.

She stepped out into the arena, drawing her vibroblade and giving it a few experimental swings. She tried to remember what she’d been taught by her smuggling crew, back in the old days when she _had_ a smuggling crew—the various moves, forms of defense, and all that. Nothing was coming back to her. She’d have to just wing it. Remembering how well her last sword fight had gone, she wasn’t particularly encouraged by the thought.

She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. _Focus your mind,_ said a voice in her head—not hers. It sounded like an old woman…

But she didn’t have time for that now. Wherever the voice came from—some distant memory, a creepy old lady in the stands reading her mind, whatever—it was right. _Let go of what you know,_ said the voice. _Trust your instincts. They will guide you._

_Instinct._ Of course. In the swoop race, she’d barely even made a conscious decision to act, and yet she’d won by a landslide. That would be the only way she’d stand a chance here.

She swung the sword again, focusing on her breathing, trying to empty her mind of thoughts and rely solely on instinct.

“... _The Mysterious Stranger!”_ the announcer was saying. And just like that, the fight started.

Wren stood her ground. She wasn’t about to run over there and meet him in the middle, not when she could force him to run the entire thing. Every little bit of energy counted in these things, after all. She took a breath. Released it. Raised her sword to parry Marl’s first strike.

“You seem less confident than usual, Stranger,” Marl noted as they exchanged blows.

Wren shrugged, dodging and parrying again. “Swordplay isn’t my strong suit. Almost got me killed a few days ago.”

Marl frowned, feinting to the left. Wren blocked his attack. “You’ve got the instinct for it.” Silence fell again as their blades clashed over and over. “You fight better when you’re not focused on it,” Marl noted as more time passed. “Like there’s some kind of mental block keeping you from accessing your full potential.”

“What?” Wren was wrongfooted, but Marl didn’t take advantage of it by striking her down. He allowed the pause in the fighting, letting her get her bearings before attacking again.

“I can’t explain it,” he said. “But right now, it’s almost effortless for you. You’re focusing on my words, not on the fight. It’s instinctual. When you’re thinking about fighting, going over strikes and parries in your head, maybe, you lose focus. You’re trying too hard. Let go of the technique and trust your instincts.”

“Why are you helping me?” she wondered aloud, trying to take his advice and let go.

“You show promise, Stranger, more than anyone I’ve seen in this ring in years. You’re skilled with a blaster, I’ll be the first to admit it. But you’re a natural with a sword, if you’d just stop thinking about it so much. It’s strange, though…your fighting style is like nothing I’ve seen before. Where were you trained?”

“I don’t really—”

That was the moment Marl chose to stop pulling his punches. Wren could almost sense his feint as he jabbed his sword to the left again. Her sword arm descended, knocking his blade out of the way, and almost without thinking she stepped closer, jabbing his skull with the hilt of her vibroblade.

Marl fell, unconscious.

_“It’s over! It’s over! The fight is over! The Mysterious Stranger has won! Marl is down, and questions abound! Can she take down Twitch and become the champion? Only time will tell…”_

Wren bowed to the cheering crowd, turned, and strode out of the arena. “My cut?” she asked Ajuur.

**“Here you are, human. 10% of the profits, as per our arrangement.”**

“What, no bonus? I’m awful at swordfighting, you know.”

**“As we have no way of verifying that for certain, Stranger, you’ll have to live with the purse you’ve already won,”** Ajuur said.

“Fine. How about a double header? I’m ready to take on Twitch right now, just say the word.”

**“Already? All right, Stranger. On your head be it.”**

There was still no sign of Mission or Carth as Wren stepped into the arena for the second time in half an hour. How long could it possibly take to get a droid? In a moment, though, her thoughts were swept up in the duel and she forgot all about it.

Twitch used a blaster, which made her life infinitely easier. A few dodges, a roll to the right, some well-placed shots—and Wren Grua (or the Mysterious Stranger, as Ajuur had insisted on calling her in spite of her protests) was the dueling champion of Taris.

She took three bows this time, in honor of the occasion. And she returned to Ajuur.

“What, no bonus for taking the championship?”

**“Not this time, human,”** Ajuur chortled. **“Though I’ll tell you what I will give you a bonus for: fighting Bendak Starkiller!”**

“All right, you’ve got my interest. How big of a bonus?”

**“Fifteen percent!”**

“Twenty.”

**“Seventeen!”**

“Twenty.”

**“Eighteen, human, and not a credit more!”**

“Come on, Ajuur, we both know Bendak only fights in death matches, and he never loses. Eighteen percent, twenty, hell, fifty percent, odds are you’ll never even have to pay me. So how high are you betting against me in this one? Come on now, don’t be shy.”

Ajuur chortled again. **“You are bold, human. But you are also correct. Bendak Starkiller has never lost a duel in his career. So with that in mind, I’ll promise you thirty percent, with the full expectation that I’ll never have to pay it.”**

“Excellent. Now we’ve got that squared away, where is he? He actually needs to agree to the challenge if this is going to happen, after all.”

**“I’ve never seen a human so eager to die before,”** Ajuur mused. **“He’s over there, in the corner.”**

He nodded at the yellow-armored Mandalorian standing against the wall and glaring at anyone who walked too close.

“I’ll be back when he’s accepted the challenge,” Wren promised.

Heedless of Starkiller’s glare, Wren walked straight up to him. “Bendak Starkiller?”

“I’ve been watching you in the dueling ring. Not bad for an amateur. I’m tempted to come out of retirement and show you what it’s like to do battle against a real champion. But I only fight to the death, and not too many people are willing to step into the ring knowing they won’t ever come out. How ‘bout you, Stranger? You think you got what it takes?”

Wren put on her most confident grin. “You’re on. When?”

“Finally, fresh meat! Ajuur will set it up. Go talk to him. It will take some time to arrange, so no point sticking around here until then. I’ll be back when it’s time for you to die.” And he swaggered out of the cantina.

Wren watched him go for a few moments, wondering if she’d just made a horrible mistake, but then a hand descended on her shoulder. She whipped around, preparing to defend herself. Carth’s eyes met hers. For a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief, then she got a look at his face.

He’d heard. She would almost rather have taken on a surprise ambush.

“Are you out of your mind?” Carth demanded, eyes blazing. “Dueling in the rings is one thing—there’s no risk to you and it’s a decent way to make some credits on the side, but a _death match?”_

Wren was immediately on the defensive. “What,” she snapped, “do you not trust me enough to be able to save my own life? Failed the last bounty I went after, so I must be a colossal screwup and incapable of anything, right? You know, given how much you don’t trust me wouldn’t it actually be _easier_ on you if I died?”

_“No!”_ Carth burst out so emphatically that Wren paused mid-rant to stare at him. There was a long pause. Then—“I don’t want you to die,” he said quietly. “It’s just—ugh, damn it, I just don’t trust anyone, all right?”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. So—”

“But that doesn’t mean I want you gone!” he cut her off.

Wren pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t understand you, Carth Onasi. You question practically every move I make, you openly declare you don’t trust me, multiple times, but I _gave_ you the opportunity to leave and be on your own, I _literally walked out on you,_ and now you have the option to just let me walk into that ring and hope to whatever higher power you may or may not believe in that I die, and then you can escape with Bastila and go save the Republic like you want, but you’re not _doing_ it. Why are you sticking with me? Why do you even care? Is this a ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ kind of deal? Is that really what I am to you?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Look. I’d offer to leave again, but at this point it’s really in all our best interests to work together until we’re off Taris. Can you make it that long? Once we’re off this planet, assuming I don’t die in the next twenty-four hours, we find a decent spaceport, I get a shuttle and you never see me again.”

Carth was completely floored. So much so that Wren had actually turned and started to walk away before his body caught up with his brain and he followed her. “Wren!” he cried, but she didn’t turn. _“Wren!”_ He grabbed her wrist this time, whirling her around to face him, but the strength of his pull combined with her momentum from determinedly walking away pulled her closer than he had anticipated. There was a moment of tension before he spoke again, though what the tension was, Wren couldn’t have said. Anticipation of the confrontation that would follow, maybe. “Wren,” he said, quieter. “Don’t go.”

“Care to tell me why in the galaxy I should stay with a partner who doesn’t trust me?” Despite her words, however, her tone lacked its usual bite. And if her voice almost broke on the word _trust,_ neither one of them would ever mention it again.

Carth took a deep breath. “Because I need you. I need you, Wren. Okay? We all need you, we—we never could have done this without you, but—”

“But you still don’t trust me,” Wren finished for him, her face falling so her eyes fixed on the ground for a moment before they snapped right back up to look at Carth. “Why, Carth? What happened to you that—that you’ve closed yourself off so damn much?”

Carth hesitated. Opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Wren rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m probably gonna die soon anyway, you might as well just—”

“Don’t say that!” Carth cut her off so sharply that Wren actually flinched a little. “Sorry,” he said, brushing a hand against her upper arm. “I didn’t mean—but I—Wren, you’re not going to die. You can’t.”

“Why, because you won’t let me fight? Sorry, Carth, but you can’t stop me. I’ve already committed to it, I’ll be damned if I back out now.”

“No, that’s—that’s not what I meant. You’re one of the most skilled people I’ve ever met. In _anything._ I just heard someone in the bar say you just beat the top two duelists, back to back,  in less than half an hour. You’re not going to die.”

She snorted. “I appreciate the sentiment, but last I checked I’m not immortal, and _he’s_ never lost a duel. The odds aren’t exactly in my favor.”

“Wren—” Carth shook her by the shoulders as though trying to snap her out of it.

She held up a hand. “I said the odds aren’t in my favor. That doesn’t mean I won’t crush the bastard the moment he steps foot in the arena. Better?”

He nodded slowly, surveying her as though trying to figure out her angle. Whatever he found amid his scrutiny, it seemed to satisfy him. His expression cleared, and his grip on her shoulders lessened. “All right,” he conceded. “You win.” One of his hands dropped to his side while the other guided her out into the cantina proper and directed her to a table. He took the seat opposite her. He sighed, nodded again, and looked her in the eye, speaking softly but clearly.

“When I think of all the men who betrayed us, the one who stands out above all of them is the one I respected the most. Saul.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up—both of them. She knew that name. “You mean Saul Karath?”

Carth nodded. “Malak’s right hand man. The commander of the entire Sith fleet. And half the reason Malak has done so well in the war.” He sighed. “Saul was my commanding officer back when the Mandalorian Wars first began. He taught me… _everything_ about being a soldier, and I looked up to him. Saul approached me before he left, he—he talked about how the Republic was on the losing side and how I should start—thinking of my survival. I...I know now that he was trying to recruit me into the Sith, but I couldn’t have conceived of it back then. I argued with him and he got angry, and he left. I never saw him again.”

“You didn’t think he’d turn on the Republic. On you. Because you loved him and respected him and _trusted_ him, and he...”

Carth nodded. “Saul was my mentor. He led us to so many victories against the Mandalorians, even when things looked to be at their worst. I—I just—I couldn’t conceive of it. He couldn’t be serious.” He sighed. “I was wrong, of course, he… he not only left us for the Sith, he gave them the codes to bypass our scanners.”

Wren’s mouth fell open. “Oh…” she breathed, almost involuntarily. It was all coming into place now.

“I remember waking up as the first of the Sith bombers snuck past our defenses and started destroying half of our docked ships, I—I knew right away what had happened. And I… I could have stopped him. I could have stopped it all.”

Wren shook her head minutely. “Do you really believe that?” she asked softly.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe he would’ve killed me, but… but I let him go.”

“If it had come to that… if you had fought… would he have killed you?”

Carth nodded. “He was my mentor. He had more skills, more experience. And by that point… he was a Sith. He didn’t care if I lived or died.”

Wren put her hand over his on the table, just to be there in a little more… tangible form. “I’m glad you lived,” she said simply.

Carth gave a tight smile before it slipped back into that storm cloud of anger. “I’ve fought Saul for years now and if I ever catch up to him, he will regret what he’s done. He will regret it.”

Wren squeezed his hand. “I hope I’m there. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I swear.” There was a moment of silence, then Carth turned his hand over on the table to squeeze hers in return. “So… that’s all of it then?” Wren asked after another moment.

Carth sighed. “No. There’s… there’s more to the story, I guess, but…”

“You’re not ready. It’s okay. You don’t have to be. But… thank you. For talking to me.”

Carth seemed to take a moment to consider his words before he said, “Thank you for listening,” and left it at that.

They sat there like that for a few minutes, just in comfortable silence, reflecting on what had been said. And Wren was wondering what it was about him that took her walls down so easily. She was never this serious with anyone, ever—she deflected talk of feelings with a sarcastic quip or a snarky remark. But Carth…

Her line of thought was cut short. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” said Mission, walking up to their table with the most beautiful astromech droid Wren had ever seen trailing in her wake.

“What took you so long?” Wren asked.

“Well Carth took me to the droid shop, told the lady Canderous sent us to get the droid, then she tried to charge us 2000 credits! 2000! So I was trying to talk her down, and Carth was getting all antsy and worrying about you getting a scratch or something in the dueling ring, so I told him to give me the serum and go back to you if it mattered that much to him, so he got the serum out and gave it to me and he left, and I kept talking to Janice and eventually I got her down to 500, so I figured that was good enough, cuz I don’t want to bankrupt her, ya know? So then I headed over and gave the serum to Zelka and wow was he grateful, he started going on about how I was a hero and Taris owed me a debt it could never repay and I didn’t want to crush his dreams by telling him it wasn’t actually me that got it, you know? That and the fact we just pulled it off a Sith corpse in the Undercity. Anyway, so he gave this huge speech and then he gave me some credits and free medpacs and I was leaving and his assistant just comes over and grabs me all gruff-like, you know? And he starts going on about how I could’ve gotten a fortune by selling that serum to Davik and how I just passed up a golden opportunity, blah, blah, blah, and then finally he shut up and I left and then on the street there were these drunk guys who started trash talking me! So I gave them a piece of my mind and they ran off to who knows where, and here I am! Ta-da!” She held out her arms and took a bow.

Carth and Wren just stared at her for a second. When none of them spoke, Mission decided to fill the silence. “So, what’d I miss?”

“Wren’s going to fight Bendak Starkiller to the death,” said Carth, sounding a lot more calm about the fact than he had ten minutes prior.

“Really? Wow! Can you get me his autograph before you kill him? Last autograph ever? Probably end up being worth a fortune!”

Wren smiled. “It’s not till tomorrow morning, Mission, get it yourself. Plus, we have work to do.”

“Work?” Mission whined. “Like what?”

“Canderous’ job, remember? We’ve got the droid, I see no reason to put this off any more than it needs to be put off.”

“We’re going now?” Carth asked, getting to his feet suddenly.

Wren shook her head. _“We’re_ going now. Carth… this needs to be a stealth mission. We _cannot_ risk getting caught. You’re… not coming.”

“But—Wren—”

“Carth, I’m sorry, but it’s too risky. Go back to the apartment. Just don’t tell Bastila. Tell her I’m working on it, let her think whatever she wants. We’ll meet you back there when we’re done.”

“But what about you? You’ve still got a few scratches and bruises from those duels, you can’t just—”

“If it makes you feel better I’ll go see Zelka before we go. Deal?”

Carth was silent for a long moment. “Deal,” he sighed at last. “I see I don’t really have a choice.”

“Nope,” Wren agreed cheerfully. “Give Bastila my best. And by best I mean worst. If she weren’t the “Republic’s Only Hope” I’d ask if you could assassinate her.”

Carth chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell her that.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Carth. Now get going.”

When Carth had left the cantina (not without a backward glance or two) Wren turned to Mission. “So did Zelka’s assistant tell you _how_ you should get your fortune from selling the serum to Davik?”

“Yeah, he mentioned something about Zax, that Hutt in the bounty office? But why—” Mission’s eyes got huge. “You had _two?”_ Wren had reached into her pocket and held up the second vial.

“Naturally,” the ex-smuggler replied. “Zelka only needed one sample, and now I can sell it to Zax, reap the benefits, and Davik won’t be able to use it the way he wants. Win-win for everyone, except Davik, but he doesn’t need a win.”

“You are a _genius,”_ Mission praised.

Wren shrugged. “Shall we get going then? We have a Sith base to break into.” She knelt down so she was on a level with the droid. “T3 model, right?”

“T3-M4,” Mission confirmed. “Best one around, according to Janice.”

“Hey there, T3,” said Wren to the droid. “You up for some breaking and entering?”

T3 beeped.

Wren grinned. “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s go.”

________________________

T3 had the door to the Sith base open in less than three seconds. Wren whistled. “He’d have been _worth_ 2000 credits,” she observed. “Not that I’m not glad we didn’t have to part with that amount, of course,” she amended. “And I appreciate your haggling skills, Mission.”

The girl grinned. “Shall we?”

When the elevator opened down below, the Twi’lek secretary looked up. **“Who are you?”** she demanded. **“I don’t recognize you. How did you get in?”**

T3 beeped quietly and hid behind Mission’s legs. “Tell you what,” said Wren. “Get out of here, _now,_ and we won’t have to kill you along with the rest of the base. Deal?”

The secretary looked frightened but stood her ground. **“What are you doing here?”** she demanded.

“We’re here for the launch codes,” said Wren. “Now.” She aimed her blaster. “Deal or no?”

The secretary raised her hands. **“Deal! Deal! I’m out of here! And I’ll even help you! If you’re good enough at hacking, you can access the droids’ programming from any terminal in the base. To get to the launch codes, continue down the hallway, then turn right at the end of the hallway and follow that to the end and take the elevator up. Goodbye!”** And she dashed into the elevator without a backward glance.

Wren looked after her for a couple moments. “That was surprisingly helpful,” she said. “Anyone else get the feeling she didn’t tell us something?”

Mission shrugged. “Either way, I bet T3 can hack into this computer and change up a few things. Come on.”

The droid rolled up to the terminal and inserted one of its robotic arms into a socket on one side. Moments later, the screen flashed a couple times, and Mission stepped up to it.

“Okay, we’re in,” she said, already pulling up security camera feeds left and right. “Ooh, that droid looks nasty. Taking his shield down… and done. That’ll make that one a little easier, anyway. And now… reprogramming the assault droids… done.”

Immediately the sound of blaster fire echoed through the base.

“I say we wait this one out,” Mission suggested. “Let them kill each other, then we can mop up what’s left.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wren agreed.

Unfortunately it wasn’t foolproof, and the sound of blaster fire drew more attention than just theirs. A door to their right flew open, and a Sith officer along with four soldiers emerged, blasters at the ready.

“There! Intruders!” cried the officer. “Attack!” And the fight was on.

Wren immediately ducked behind the desk for cover. One of the soldiers threw a thermal detonator over the desk. With seconds before it detonated, Wren seized it quickly but gingerly and threw it back, covering behind the desk as it exploded. When she could see again, there was only one Sith left—one of the soldiers who’d managed to sneak around behind them. Wren took aim, preparing to fire, but in the blink of an eye the air shimmered behind him and the tip of a vibroblade appeared, sticking out his chest. He fell, and Mission appeared behind him, looking very satisfied with herself.

Wren checked the bodies. One of the soldiers had a couple more grenades—a frag grenade and an adhesive grenade—and the officer had a pass card. She pocketed all of it.

Mission, meanwhile, was listening. “I don’t hear any blasters,” she said after a moment. “Let’s go.”

Wren went first, opening the door and checking the hallway. “Clear,” she reported after a moment, and they continued down the hall.

As they proceeded through  the next door, however, they were interrupted by an outcry. **“Human! You are not Sith. Please, help!”** The cry came from a Duros, looking forlorn in a Force cage on the right side of the room.

“Well, you got that right. I assume you want me to let you go. How? Also, what did you do to piss off the Sith?”

**“I was the victim of a Sith raid on the southern apartment complex,”** the Duros explained. **“Ixgil protested and was killed, but then a man intervened. Since he was human, the Sith accused him of being a Republic fugitive and attacked, but he killed them all. I was caught in the act of moving the bodies so it looked like they were killed somewhere else.”**

Suspicion clouded Wren’s mind for a moment. “This man… average height? Brown hair? Fuzzy beard sort of thing and a couple obnoxious strands of hair flopping in his face all the time?”

The Duros clearly didn’t see the relevance of this line of questioning. **“Yes…?”**

“Damn it Carth, you need to tell me these things,” Wren muttered to herself. “Very well. How can I free you?” she added to the Duros.

**“You must turn all the switches on the wall to the ‘off’ position,”** he explained. **“But be careful! Each switch will flip the other two next to it, and if they’re all switched to green I’ll die.”**

“Sounds like fun,” said Wren. “I’ll—”

The Force cage deactivated.

“Wha—” Wren spun around.

“Simple,” said Mission.

**“Thank you! Thank you both!”** the Duros cried, and sprinted toward the exit.

“He’s a fast one,” Wren commented offhandedly. “Nice job with the switches.”

Mission waved a hand. “I was playing with them the whole time. I had it all figured out, I just didn’t know if red or green would let him out. The minute he said which was which, I took care of it.”

“Mission, you’re brilliant. Okay, let’s go. She said right at the end of the hall, right?”

“Right,” Mission confirmed.

They met no further resistance as they made their way down the hall. Until, of course, they reached the massive assault droid Mission had commented on.

Wren’s eyes widened. “Thanks for taking down that shield, Mish,” she said.

“‘Course,” the girl replied with a wink, and she dodged to the right as Wren went left. T3, meanwhile, rolled straight up the center and fired some kind of ion beam at the thing. It flinched, as much as a droid can flinch, and Mission and Wren took the opportunity to start firing on it from the corners of the room while T3 sustained the ion beam.

Unfortunately for them, however, the beam lasted only about six seconds before it shut off, and T3 was stuck with resorting to the same tactic as the others—dodge and fire, dodge and fire. Wren took a shot to her right arm—only a graze but it still hurt like hell—as well as one that bounced off her armor.

Mission, meanwhile, had apparently decided that sanity was for losers and drawn her sword. She charged the droid, head first, then at the last second slid underneath it and stabbed upward as she went. She cried out a moment later as the weapon pierced the circuitry, shocking her, but the maneuver had done the job. The droid fell as Mission, shaken, pushed herself to her feet, and it didn’t get back up.

Wren rushed to Mission’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Sure, fine. Just slightly electrocuted, but it’s no big deal.”

“You’re crazy, you know that? Tell you what, stay back here. T3, keep an eye on her, and you two guard the elevator. I’ll be back with the codes.”

“But—”

“You said it yourself, Mish, you just got electrocuted. Take a breather. But we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Tell you what. How badly can you mess with the security cameras around the base?”

Mission grinned, relenting at last. “They’ll never know we were here,” she promised.

Wren turned to the droid. “You good with guarding the elevator?”

T3 beeped.

“Good. I’ll be back soon.” She used the pass card from the Sith officer to enter the elevator.

The ride up was short. Wren was grateful for it, in a way. It gave her a chance to apply some kolto to the burn on her arm, but not enough time to start worrying about what might be coming. Surely the codes were better guarded than just an assault droid, right?

Right. As the elevator door opened, the bald man who was meditating in the middle of the room stirred from his position.

“Who dares to break my meditation?” he demanded. “You will pay for interrupting my—wait. I sense the Force is strong with you. Very strong.”

Wren looked around, wondering who the hell he was talking to. She looked back. He was staring straight at her. “Who, me? No. No way. You’re _crazy._ I want nothing to do with the Force, or the Jedi, light or dark.”

He smirked. “Who would have thought a Force adept could be found on such an insignificant planet. Especially one in such deep denial. But no matter. Your powers are no match for a disciple of the Dark side.”

“I don’t _have_ any powers!” Wren insisted. “And I’ll do just fine without them, thank you very much!”

He ignored her. “This meeting is a stroke of luck for me. My master will surely reward me with my lightsaber when I’ve disposed of you!”

Wren stopped protesting to the notion of her being a Force adept long enough to laugh. “You don’t even have your lightsaber yet? What kind of Dark Jedi are you?”

He again ignored her, drawing a double-bladed sword, but Wren was quicker. In a moment, he was glued to the floor by the adhesive grenade Wren had picked up from the Sith soldier in the lobby. While she’d been focusing on preventing him from coming at her with a sword, though, she’d temporarily forgotten he could use the Force. As she pulled out another grenade, he extended his hand toward her, and she found herself frozen in place. Having gained the upper hand, he didn’t even bother to free himself from the adhesive. He hit her with Force lightning.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was the same feeling as actual electrocution. Either way, it _hurt._ A lot. The lightning coursed through her body, frying every extremity with a relentless electric current—at least, that’s what it felt like. She felt the stasis wear off but didn’t move, waiting for her chance.

The moment he released the lightning, she struck, tossing the concussion grenade she had in her hand. It struck the ground and exploded just as he let off another burst of lightning. She felt the pain begin again, but it was cut short as the grenade hit him, disorienting him. He swayed on the spot, still stuck to the ground with the adhesive which was surely wearing off by now, and Wren fired two shots to his head and three to his torso.  

He collapsed in a very undignified-looking heap, and Wren snorted. “Dark Jedi my ass.” She searched his pockets, picking up 500 credits and the launch codes on a datapad. Finding another 1000 credits in a footlocker to one side of the room, she pocketed those as well and headed for the elevator.

Mission and T3 were both waiting. “You have it?” the Twi’lek asked the moment the elevator opened. Wren silently held up the datapad and Mission punched the air. “Yes!”

“Let’s go. Just in case we missed any Sith.”

 ________________________

At the exit, Wren turned to Mission again. “We should split up. Head back to the apartment. T3 and I will be along shortly. Just… tell Carth not to worry, I won’t blow up the planet or anything.”

Mission nodded, and they split off, walking their own separate ways but still in relatively the same direction. Then, Mission went one way, and Wren went the other—back to the cantina.

**“Are you ready for the duel, Stranger?”** Ajuur chortled when she reached him. 

Wren checked her blaster. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And when Bendak’s dead on the ground, I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain. Thirty percent.”

**“Heh, heh, thirty percent it is, human, thirty percent it is. Now, head out to the arena.”**

As Wren headed for the entrance, however, a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to find herself facing Marl.

“You’re a good fighter, kid,” he said. “I’d hate to see you lose to that scumbag, so I’ll give you some advice. Use an energy shield, and be ready to dodge. Bendak likes to use grenades.”

“You’ve seen him fight?”

“Yes, yes. I’ve been around here for a while, you know. Never fought him myself, of course—well, obviously—but I saw enough of his duels to get an idea for his style. I’d recommend a concussion grenade. He prefers blasters to swords and grenades to blasters. If you can get him disoriented, you might stand a chance. And don’t even bother with poison; that helmet of his will filter out anything you can throw at him.”

Wren looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Thanks, Marl.”

“Best of luck to you, Stranger. I have complete faith that you can take out some washed-up merc past his prime.”

Wren shot him a smirk. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

He shook her right hand, then held something out to her in his left: an energy shield.

“Best one I own,” he offered. “I won't be needing it anymore. It's Echani-made, one of the best the galaxy has to offer. Use it well.”

He nodded, released her hand, and waved her on into the arena. She strapped on the shield, took a deep breath, and stepped through the gates.

Bendak Starkiller was already waiting inside. She couldn't see his face, of course, as every inch of him was covered in that armor, but she could hear his smirk as he addressed her. “Ready to die, meat? I can already taste another victory.”

She gave him her own smirk in return. “That's a little premature, don't you think?”

“We'll see, meat. We'll see.”

The announcer had already begun his overly-dramatic introduction of the duel and had moved on to the combatants.

_“In this corner, a living legend, a man whose very name would make his opponents shake in their boots...if any of them were still alive, hahaha! I give you Bendak Starkiller!”_

Wren rolled her eyes and tuned him out. She needed a plan. She would start by switching on the energy shield the moment the match began; then, if Marl was right, she'd have to dodge a grenade or two. She still had two concussion grenades left on her belt—she had no doubt he'd be strong enough to resist one, but if she threw both in quick succession, that might give her time to hit him with her one and only plasma grenade.

That assumed Marl had been telling the truth, of course. If it had been any of the others, she might have been more wary. Ice would certainly love to see her dead, Duncan and Gerlon probably wouldn't object, and Twitch was crazy enough for anything. But Marl knew what he was talking about, and he'd always been polite to her, even after she beat him. Especially after she beat him. She'd have to take the chance of taking him at his word.

_“And now, the moment you've all been waiting for… LET THE DEATH MATCH BEGIN!”_

Wren switched on the energy shield and with half an eye on Bendak, dashed off to the right, hand on a concussion grenade. He himself withdrew a red grenade—plasma—and followed her movements, throwing the grenade ahead of her so that she would run right into it. She screeched to a halt and dived back to the left just as the explosion went off, and in the confusion she managed to throw her own grenades, one after the other. Bendak staggered a bit at first, keeping a hold on his faculties, but when her second grenade struck, just as she had predicted, he swayed on the spot, stunned. She fired on him with her blaster, trying to get an idea of his defenses.

They were considerable. His armor was of Mandalorian make, probably _beskar._ She was slowly wearing down his energy shield, but not quickly enough. In a few moments, he would recover from the damage inflicted by the concussion grenade and then he’d start throwing plasma at her again.

Getting blown up by a rogue Mandalorian wasn’t part of the plan. She needed to survive—to collect the bounty, to help Carth and Mission, to get off of Taris. Mostly to wipe the smirk off that bastard’s face. So, switching her blaster to her left hand, she grasped her one and only plasma grenade and threw it.

It exploded right at Bendak’s feet, the brightness of it leaving a spot on her vision. She blinked furiously, trying to get rid of it, but a moment later something else exploded at her feet, blinding her completely. A flash grenade. The plasma may have hurt him, but it hadn’t killed him, and he was still trying his best to win this thing.

Wren blinked furiously, trying to clear the brightness from her vision. She dodged to the left on instinct, figuring that if he was in any way smart, he’d take advantage of her weakened state by throwing another grenade.

She was right. She felt heat flare across her right side, wincing as her leg was burned a little. Still, she was lucky to have avoided the grenade at all. Still blinking furiously, her obscured vision slowly clearing, she ducked on another instinct as blaster fire shot straight above her head.

She had to end this now.

She palmed another grenade, not even sure which kind, and threw it in Bendak’s general direction. A second one quickly followed.

The first grenade exploded. A blaster shot grazed her left side.

The second grenade exploded. The crowd erupted into cheers, but she was once again diving out of the way, right this time, as Bendak Starkiller tried to get the last laugh. But there was no explosion. Instead, far too close to her on the left side, there was an unmistakable _hiss._

Poison. _Shit._

She held her breath as best she could, but within thirty seconds her lungs were bursting. She released the air, inhaled a bit, and held her breath again.

_“It’s over! It’s over! The fight is over! The Mysterious Stranger has won! Bendak Starkiller is down! Bendak Starkiller is dead! All hail the Mysterious Stranger, the greatest duelist to ever grace the rings of Taris!”_

She didn’t really feel all that great, but she accepted the cheers graciously as she took a moment to take stock of her injuries. The right leg of her leggings was mostly burned away, and the flesh underneath it was red and blistering already. _Lovely._ Deciding to deal with it later, she moved on to investigating the blaster shot on her left side. As she’d suspected, it was just a graze and bleeding very little but it still hurt like hell.

And finally there was the matter of the poison. That had been a clever tactic, she had to admit. He knew he was going down, so he did the one thing that would give him the best chance of taking her down with him.

Her head was getting fuzzy as she continued both to try not to breathe and to inhale the poison when she could no longer avoid it, but she had to get out of here. It might get worse. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet. Her vision grayed out entirely and she swayed, pushing against the wall for support. _She had to get out of here._ Somehow the strength of her will cleared her vision enough that she could see and her head enough that she could walk. She stepped out of the arena and found Marl and T3 waiting for her.

“You did well, kid,” Marl said. “Here, I’ve got an antidote kit.” He stabbed a needle into her uninjured leg. “It may take a minute or two to fully take effect, but the poison won’t kill you.”

She shook her head to clear it a bit and looked at him. “Thank you,” she said.

“You killed Bendak Starkiller, Stranger. It’s the least I can do.”

“Wren.”

“What?”

“My name—Wren.”

“Well congratulations to you, Wren. You deserve every credit of that bonus I heard the Hutt promised you.”

Wren actually laughed at that. “I convinced him the odds of my survival were minimal, so he probably wouldn’t have to pay me anyway. It was like his way of betting on Bendak.”

“Well looks like you got the last laugh. Well done. Oh, and—” he drew something out of his belt. “They brought this back for you. Bendak’s blaster pistol, outfitted with more upgrades than I’ve ever seen. It packs a punch. You’re lucky that bolt that hit you only grazed your side.”

“Oh, believe me, I know I’m lucky,” she assured him. “When that flash grenade went off I thought I was a goner.”

“So did most of everyone else,” said Marl. He paused for a moment. “So how did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Fight like that, when you couldn’t see anything?”

Wren shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve got really good instincts, I can—I don’t know, feel things coming, somehow, and know what I need to do to avoid them, without seeing them. At least mostly.”

“Fascinating.”

They’d reached the Hutt.

“So about that thirty percent,” Wren began.

Fortunately, he appeared to be in a good mood. **“Ho, ho, ho, I don’t believe it. Best duel I’ve seen in a long time! And you killed Bendak Starkiller! Here’s your promised cut.”** He handed her several credit chips—almost 2000 credits.

Wren smiled sweetly at him. “You wouldn’t be holding out on me, would you Ajuur? After all, we had a deal.” She stared him down, still smiling sweetly, but drilling holes in him with her eyes.

**“Ah, very well, very well, here.”** He handed her another stack of chips. The total came to almost 3000 credits. **“Betting was high on this match. People were more excited for it than I’ve seen in ages—must’ve been the death match.”**

“I guess so. Well, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I’d best be going.”

She turned back to Marl, intending to shake his hand, but he spoke first. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to escort you to the medical facility, just to make sure your injuries don’t get the better of you on the way over. The poison should be out of your system by now, but the others…”

“All right then. Let’s go.”

Zelka Forn greeted them cheerfully while his assistant glared. “Ah, Marl, it’s good to see you. And Wren! I have a sneaking suspicion that the young Twi’lek who came in here earlier with the rakghoul serum was acting on your behalf?”

Wren smirked. “I can neither confirm nor deny that, Zelka.”

“Ah, very well. I’ve almost finished initial analysis on the serum, you know. Now, what can I do for you?”

“My friend here has sustained some rather serious injuries in a duel,” Marl said, indicating Wren’s leg. “If you wouldn’t mind…?”

“Oh, of course! I heard all about it—you’re the Mysterious Stranger. I can’t imagine taking part in a death match—it must have been terrifying!”

She shrugged. “All in a day’s work, I suppose.”

Marl handed Zelka something. “If you’ve got this under control, I should be heading back home,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Stranger.” He reached out to shake her hand. She grasped his and gave him her best handshake.

“I can’t thank you enough, Marl,” she said. “If you hadn’t warned me about the grenades, I’d have been dead in the first thirty seconds. Good luck to you.” The older duelist smiled and nodded his head before turning his back on them and leaving the clinic.

It took a little while, but Zelka was able to make sure that her system was clear of poison, and then he injected both the burn and the blaster wound with kolto and cleaned both. He bandaged the blaster shot before applying a burn salve to her leg. “Hopefully that’ll help it to heal faster,” he said. “I’ve certainly seen worse burns than this in my time.”

“Thank you for everything, Zelka,” said Wren, reaching for the credits in her pocket.

“No need to pay me, my dear. Marl gave me this to cover your fee.” He held up the credits that Marl had handed him before leaving.

Wren’s mouth dropped open and she turned to the door, but of course Marl was long gone. “When you see him again, tell him thank you,” she requested.

He smiled. “Of course. It’s the least I can do for an upstanding citizen such as yourself.”

“Now I’d better be on my way,” she said. “Thank you again for everything, and good luck with the serum. Come on T3.”

She beckoned to the droid, who followed her out of the clinic. She looked back down the walkway in the direction of the apartment. “They’ll be all right,” she said aloud. “Carth might go crazy, but we’ll just have to be quick, won’t we? Come on.” And she led the droid in the direction of the Lower City elevator. She had a meeting to attend.

“Hold it right there, civ—” Wren gave the Sith guard a look as she held up the security papers Gadon had given them.

“Good enough for you?”

The guard nodded stiffly. “Just be careful down there. Those gangs will take a shot at anyone; even our Sith patrols have—”

The elevator door closed behind her, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

She could have sworn it was the same Rodian guarding the cantina. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to the punch. “No trouble in the cantina, got it, can I go in now?”

She didn’t wait for his answer before walking through the door, bypassing the Pazaak den to enter the main part of the cantina. She scanned it, located Canderous Ordo at a table near the back, but first turned left, heading for the bounty office.

“Two things for you,” she said to Zax before he could speak. “Know what this is?” She held up the second vial of rakghoul serum. “Rakghoul serum,” she informed him, not waiting for his answer. “I was told I could sell it to you if I got my hands on it. Davik want it?”

**“What kind of question is that, human? Of course Davik wants it. 2000 credits.”**

“5000.”

**“Three.”**

“I’ll take it. Three thousand it is. Also I killed Bendak Starkiller.”

**“I heard, human. Ironic, isn’t it, that he killed so many people in death matches only to have another collect his bounty in a death match?”**

Wren shrugged. “If you say so.”

**“So, human, 300 credits. That’s the price for all bounties.”**

“I thought we agreed the dangerous ones would be 400.”

**“Right you are, human. 400 credits.”**

“Hoping I’d forget?”

**“You never know, human.”**

“Add that to the 3000 from the rakghoul serum and it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Zax. I’ll be on my way.”

She slid the credits into her backpack as she exited the room, but as she stepped into the main cantina she ran straight into one of the locals.

“My apologies,” she said at the same time as he said, “Sorry.”

They both stepped back, looked each other up and down, and recognized each other.

Holdan’s face split into a grin. “Hey, honey. Change your m—” He was cut off by Wren’s fist to his jaw.

“Oh dear, how clumsy of me,” Wren said sweetly as she bent over him on the ground. “I’ll take those 200 credits back, if you don’t mind.” She held out her hand.

“Now, just a sec, hon—”

“I could hit you again, try and scramble some of those brain cells back into the proper order. That wasn’t a request.”

Holdan growled furiously, but dug in his pockets for the credits and slapped them into her hand. “There. Hope you choke on it.”

Wren scoffed. “I’m not _eating_ it, asshat. Have a nice life.”

Without bothering to help him up, she turned and headed for the back of the cantina, where Canderous, predictably, was watching the show.

“Nice punch,” he complimented offhandedly as she sat across from him. “I figured you’d be back. We’re not getting off this rock unless we work together. Now, I’ve heard about your handiwork in the base. I know you’ve got those departure codes I need. So, what do you say? You ready to finish the plan and get off this rock?”

“Soon as I hear what the plan is,” she qualified. “Ready to tell me now?”

Canderous nodded. “Davik’s always looking to recruit new talent. I’ll tell him you won that swoop race, and maybe some of the other crazy things you’ve pulled off since you got here, and tell him you’re interested in working for the Exchange. He’ll want me to bring you in to check you out. He’ll have you stay at his estate for a few days—standard procedure. While they’re running the background checks, we’ll sneak into the hangar, steal the _Ebon Hawk,_ and be off this planet before anyone knows any different.”

“We’ll have time to pick up my associates, of course?”

“Of course. Now, the sooner we get out of here, the better. We can go right now. Just say the word.”

“Consider the word said,” Wren replied. “Let’s go.”


	6. How Far He'll Go

Wren whistled as Davik’s estate came into view. “He’s a crime lord all right. No other way to make that kind of money on a planet like this.”

“Don’t forget the mission,” Canderous said. “We get in, get him to consider accepting you, and then we break out that ship and fly out of here. It couldn’t hurt to charm the bastard as much as possible—the more he likes you the less he’ll watch you.”

“He’ll watch me regardless,” Wren pointed out. “But I see what you’re saying. Let’s not give him a reason to put an extra guard or two on me.”

Canderous parked the speeder and led the way to the front entrance of the estate, Wren and T3 in his wake. A guard opened the door when he saw Canderous, nodding respectfully at the Mandalorian.

“Davik’s in his throne room,” said another guard who met them inside. “You know the way.”

“Of course I do,” snapped Canderous. “Now get out of my way.”

The guard hastened to comply, but Canderous ignored him completely, leading Wren through several hallways and into what the guard had referred to as the throne room.

The instant they entered, Wren knew why. The room was lavishly furnished, with various expensive-looking decorations covering the walls and one of the most beautiful carpets she’d ever laid eyes on. In the center of the room was a raised dais, and on that dais was what could only be described as a throne. Standing in front of the throne was a man in elaborate purple armor which Wren would guess was more for show than actual protection, though knowing crime lords it could conceivably be both. And beside him stood a second man, considerably shorter, wearing an unmistakable blue coat. Calo Nord. She was distracted from this new observation, however, as Davik had turned and spotted them.

“Ah, Canderous!” the crime lord greeted. “I see you’ve brought someone with you. Most intriguing, if I do say so myself—you usually travel alone.”

Wren’s heartbeat accelerated almost imperceptibly. Was he suspicious already, or just making an observation?

“Not like you to take on partners, Canderous. You’re going soft,” Calo taunted.

Canderous ignored him. “This is a special case, Davik. I ran into someone the Exchange might want to recruit. You may have heard something of her exploits already.”

“Ah, yes, now I recognize your companion.” Davik nodded. “The rider who won the big swoop race. Very impressive… as was your display in the rather heated battle afterward.”

Wren drew herself up to her full height and gave him her best icy and aloof stare. “Brejik had to learn that double-crossers tend to end up dead,” she declared.

“An important lesson to learn, no doubt.” Davik’s tone was patronizing, almost, but Wren schooled her face into her sweet half-smile. “I’ve seen far too many people suffer for not understanding it.” He nodded sagely for a few moments before continuing. “With a recommendation from Canderous, and a thorough background check, you could become part of the Exchange. Many would kill to prove themselves worthy of this honor.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Very well. Come with me. I’ll give you a tour of my operations. I’m certain you’ll be most impressed.”

Quite honestly, Wren couldn't care less, but she smiled and nodded and interjected appropriate comments at all the right moments.

“I've saved the best for last,” Davik assured her as one of his guards opened the last door.

Wren's jaw practically hit the floor. “She's beautiful,” she breathed.

“My pride and joy,” Davik declared passionately. “Fastest ship in the Outer Rim. But even she isn't fast enough to avoid the Sith’s auto-targeting laser cannons. I am, of course, working on acquiring the Sith departure codes so that I may come and go as I please. However, progress has been slow. But come, I'll show you to your quarters.”

The suite was just as nice as everything else in the estate—that is to say, excessively. Lavish furnishings, two bedrooms, soft mattresses and pillows—had Wren not been there to steal a ship and get off the planet, she might have been glad to stay forever, but as it was she needed to get out, and she couldn't risk Davik finding out she had been working for the Republic.

“You will stay in these rooms as my guest for the next few days—I will not accept no for an answer. If all goes well with your background check, you will be invited to join the Exchange. I'd advise you to take the offer when it comes, or suffer the dire consequences of refusal.”

“Where am I permitted to go during my stay?” she asked innocently.

“I must ask you to confine yourself to the guest quarters. Feel free to visit the slave quarters at any time during your stay. They're located at the end of the hall. However, if you're found outside the guest wing, or if you bother my other guests, my security forces will deal with you most harshly.”

“Understood,” said Wren. Then, almost too sweetly, she added, “I look forward to working with you soon, Davik.”

The crime lord smiled and left the suite, followed, after a long look at Wren and Canderous, by Calo Nord.

“Okay, we’re—” Canderous started, but Wren cut him off.

“Mr. Ordo, much as it is a pleasure to be away from the filth and _bugs_ of the Lower City—” this last was said with a significant look at Canderous, “I find myself wanting to be a bit more productive than simply lounging around here. What is there to do in the guest wing?”

“The slaves might be able to help you,” Canderous shrugged, nodding to show he’d understood her vague hints. “If you like gossip, they probably hear the best rumors from the guests.”

“Excellent. I’ll go there, then. Do whatever you wish, I’ll meet you back here when I’m satisfied.”

“Understood,” said Canderous, dropping into a chair and putting his feet up on the table. “I’ll be here.”

The slave quarters were nearly as luxurious as the suite Wren and Canderous were staying in. The massage was excellent, one of the best she’d ever received (and that was saying quite a lot—life as a smuggler hadn’t always been difficult), but Wren’s objective was the information.

“So,” she said to the young Twi’lek who’d massaged her, “what are the latest rumors around the estate?”

“I—I’m not entirely sure what you mean, miss.” The girl bowed her head shyly, almost afraid.

Wren smiled kindly at her. “Come now, I’m sure someone with your incredible talent gets a lot of customers among the guests. And surely they talk about some things, right?”

She rubbed the back of her neck and fluttered her eyelashes. “Well, yes, I suppose they do. They’ve all been talking about poor Hudrow lately. He was Davik’s pilot for the _Ebon Hawk,_ you know, but he got caught stealing some spice from the lab. Normally, you know, he’d get away with something like that, but since the blockade is in effect and the _Hawk_ is grounded, Davik’s having him tortured.”

Wren gasped a little, faking shock. “Oh my! Tortured? Where in the galaxy would he have a torture chamber? I didn’t see anything like one on our tour.”

“He wants to keep it hidden, miss,” the girl admitted. “It’s west and then north of the throne room.” Her eyes went wide as though she’d just realized what she’d been saying. “Th-that’s all I know, I swear! And d-don’t tell Davik I told you!”

Wren smiled again and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to tell Davik how excellent your massage was, though. I was quite pleased.” And with a smile back at the girl, Wren headed back to her suite.

Canderous, as she predicted, hadn’t moved. “Having fun?” he asked sardonically.

Wren shrugged. “I heard some other guests talking about Davik’s pilot trying to steal some spice. Apparently Davik’s having him tortured.”

Canderous raised his eyebrows. “Interesting. Well if you’re satisfied, I guess I can take you to see Davik’s trophy room,” he improvised. “He's even got a rancor head on the wall.”

“Sounds excellent. Let’s go.”

Instead of turning left towards the trophy room, however, the pair, followed by T3, turned right and opened the door to the throne room. It was entirely deserted. Slightly unnerved, Wren made her way to the west door, as the slave had said. A guard was patrolling the hall and turned at the noise, but Wren was stabbing him in the back before he even had a chance to react to the presence of intruders.

“She said north…” Wren muttered to herself, following the hallway and opening a door.

“Hey!” a man shouted. “I gave orders not to be disturbed! What is the meaning of this? I’ll be sure to be telling Davik of this poor service!”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Wren replied, letting her voice quaver a little bit. “Davik just wanted me to make sure you didn’t need anything else, sir.”

The man stopped short. “Oh. Well, in that case, tell Davik I’m doing just fine and I will ask if any further assistance is required. Here. For your trouble.” And he tossed her a 50 credit chip before closing the door.

Wren smirked at Canderous. “Convincing acting pays off, Ordo.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t notice you were armed,” he returned. “Here, it’s this door.” And he gestured to the one remaining door on the north side of the hallway.

Drawing her blaster, Wren took up a position on one side of the door while Canderous took the other and T3 positioned himself just beside Wren. Canderous nodded, and Wren opened the door.

On the up side, there were only two torture droids. On the down side, they had flamethrowers. Wren got singed a little on their first volley, so she pulled back for a moment to inject a medpac into her arm. Meanwhile, T3 switched to the ion weapon, managing to temporarily disable the droids while Canderous finished the job with his rifle. Satisfied that the droids were destroyed, Wren ran into the room and switched off the torture cage, which contained a man curled on the ground in the fetal position, twitching.

“Thank....you,” he gasped. “You have… no idea... what it was… like in there.”

“Hudrow,” Canderous greeted. “The security for the _Ebon Hawk._ Now.”

“Hey, let him breathe for a second,” Wren objected.

“We don’t have much time before every guard in this estate converges on us,” Canderous snapped. “I’d like to be out of here before that happens.”

“I...understand,” said Hudrow. “Here.” He held out his hand for Wren’s datapad. “I’m giving you… the security codes. Take the _Hawk._ You can… sell it… ransom it back… whatever you want.”

Wren shrugged. “I’m in favor of keeping it, personally. Beautiful ship. Come on, Canderous, let’s go. Hudrow, I’d get out of here as soon as you can. Here.” She tossed him a medpac. “It won’t cure everything, but it’ll help. Good luck.”

They were in the corridor leading up to the hangar when escape suddenly became exponentially more urgent. An explosion shook the building, followed by two more in quick succession. Wren almost overbalanced but managed to catch herself on the wall. “What the—”

Another explosion echoed, this time farther away.

“Are they bombarding the estate?” Wren demanded. “What the hell?”

Canderous listened for a moment and shook his head. “Not the estate, the entire city. We need to get out of here. Now.”

“No arguments here,” Wren agreed, already inputting the codes to open the hangar. The door sprang open. “Let’s get out of—”

“Damn those Sith, they’re bombing the whole planet!” Wren froze. Davik’s voice. _Shit._ “I knew they’d turn on us sooner or—” He spotted them. “Well, look what we’ve got here. Thieves in the hangar.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “So. You thought you’d just steal my ship for your getaway and leave me high and dry while the Sith turn the planet into dust? Sorry, but that ain’t gonna happen!”

“I’ll take care of them, Davik,” said Calo Nord from beside the crime lord. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

“Make it quick, Calo,” Davik warned. “The Sith mean business. If we don’t get our ships and get somewhere safe, the bombs they’re dropping will kill us all!”

Canderous snarled as he fired on Calo Nord. Wren decided to leave him to it and turned her blaster on Davik, dodging his shots every so often. No words were spoken. They all knew the stakes, reminded periodically by the blasts shaking the hangar.

Out of nowhere, T3 skidded up behind Davik, targeting him with a flamethrower. Neither Davik nor Calo noticed until it was too late. Wren wrinkled her nose as the crime lord went up in flames, shrieking in a very undignified manner.

Calo glanced over at his former employer and made a snap decision. “You may have me outnumbered and outgunned, but if I’m going down, I’m taking all of you with me. This thermal detonator will blow us all to bits.” He pulled the detonator off his belt, but luck appeared not to be on his side. A laser from the bombarding Sith fleet struck the floor feet from him. Looking upward, Wren saw the hole it had charred through the ceiling of the hangar—and the weakened structure around it. Praying she wasn’t wrong, she fired at it.

The ceiling collapsed all around Calo Nord, crushing him. T3 skidded out of the way just in time and raced after Canderous and Wren as they headed for the ship.

“I’ll fly!” Wren called, already racing for the cockpit. “We need to get the others!”

“I should fly,” Canderous corrected. “They’ll need to see you—they won’t trust me. Come on.” He took the pilot’s seat and Wren took the co-pilot’s, helping him start the ship and get it in the air.

They descended toward the walkway outside the apartments and Canderous opened the loading ramp. Holding on to one side, Wren leaned out as far as she could go, looking for—

_“Wren!”_ Mission’s voice. Wren turned toward the sound and spotted the Twi’lek standing with Zaalbar, Carth, and Bastila.

“Come on!” she called. “Jump!” Canderous got the ship as low as he could, a few feet off the ground. Zaalbar lifted the others onto the loading ramp before he hauled himself up, and Wren yelled to Canderous that everyone was aboard.

An explosion nearby rocked the ship, and Bastila started sliding backwards even as the loading ramp was closing. Wren reflexively caught her hand, holding her there. A moment passed, an eternity in which both became aware that Wren could very easily let go, leaving Bastila to die here. Their eyes met. But the moment passed, and Wren hauled her up, muttering about clumsy Jedi before stepping off the loading ramp and into the ship.

No sooner was she safe than Carth grabbed her by the shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She gave him a look. “The mission, Carth, and nothing else. If I’d taken the time to come back and get you, we’d all be dead by now!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Carth. Right now, you need to fly the ship. Anything else can wait until we’re actually safe.”

He conceded that she had a point with a nod, turning to run towards the cockpit as Canderous pulled them out of the atmosphere.

Then she felt it. Pain, fear, burning agony. Desperation. She staggered backwards, there wasn’t enough air, her breaths were getting faster and shallower. Every single person on that planet was dying, and she could feel it. And it was her fault.

_What?_

What had brought that thought on, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t shake the sense of truth it carried along with it. She took a deep breath, focusing herself and trying to block the feelings out. With considerable effort, she succeeded until they were a dull throbbing in the back of her head, and she headed for the cockpit to see how she could help.

When Wren arrived in the cockpit, Bastila had taken the co-pilot’s seat and Canderous was standing behind Carth.

“Plot a course for Dantooine!” Bastila called. “There’s a Jedi enclave there where we can find refuge!”

Wren opened her mouth to protest but was cut off by Carth. “Incoming fighters!”

“I’ll take care of them,” Wren volunteered, already turning to leave. If nothing else, it would help her take her mind off what she had just experienced. She headed through the main hold and climbed down the ladder into the _Hawk’s_ laser turret. She slid the targeting computer in front of her eyes, instantly spotting three Sith fighters on her radar. She gunned them down, one after the other, aiming and firing, aiming and firing as she’d done so often in the past.

Eight fighters in all. No others had followed them. Wren took them out methodically as Carth engaged in evasive maneuvers to keep them from getting hit. A few moments after she’d destroyed the last fighter, she felt the ship accelerate and the stars vanished as they entered hyperspace. She leaned back in her chair for a moment, relaxing. _They were safe._ Then she sat bolt upright, remembering where Bastila had said they were going. They weren’t safe. She needed to stop this. Climbing out of the turret, she dashed for the cockpit.

“Where are we going?” she demanded of Carth breathlessly.

“Dantooine,” he replied quickly. “Bastila says—” He stopped. Took a breath. “Wren—”

“No,” she said forcefully. “No, we can’t go there, we can’t, we—” Her breathing was rapidly speeding up again, she couldn’t seem to get enough air, she gripped the back of Carth’s chair in a death grip, she couldn’t go to Dantooine, not when it was full of Jedi—

“What seems to be the problem?” Bastila asked serenely from the co-pilot’s chair.

“You’re dumping me in a nest of Jedi, is the problem,” Wren hissed, finding an outlet for her terror. “I’ll drop you there, fine, but after that, I’m moving on. Nar Shaddaa, Onderon, Tatooine, I don’t care. As long as it’s away from any Jedi.”

Was it Wren’s imagination, or did Bastila look briefly panicked? “At the very least, you’ll need to refuel,” she pointed out, regaining her composure. “And you could certainly do with some supplies, and perhaps some repairs to your armor.”

Wren gritted her teeth. “Fine. Twenty-four hours. That’s it. Long enough to refuel and resupply, and then I’m out of there. I’ll take anyone else anywhere they need to go if they don’t want to stay—” she shot a glance at Carth, “—but I’m not staying on that—that—”

“Safe haven?” Bastila filled in smugly. “Dantooine is the safest—”

“ _Nowhere_ that’s full of Jedi is safe, Bastila.” Determined to have the last word, Wren whirled around and marched out of the cockpit.

In the main hold, she stopped and took seven deep breaths, inhaling, holding it for a moment, and exhaling with a _whoosh._ Her mind emptied, at least temporarily, of her anxiety, she was able to pause for a moment and think about what had happened.

_Mission._

She hadn’t even thought about it since they’d left Taris, being so absorbed in their escape and then in her desire to avoid the Jedi, but Mission… Taris was her home. She’d be heartbroken.

On a hunch, Wren headed for the cargo hold. Canderous was in the garage, tinkering with a swoop bike Davik had left there. He nodded as she passed and she nodded back.

The cargo hold door was locked. _Knew it,_ she thought, hacking it open in a few seconds. She paused in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the lightless space, and finally spotted Mission. She let out a breath as her eyes fell on the Twi’lek, huddled in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest, perfectly still except an almost imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. Wren closed the door behind her.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t think there were words, and even if there were, they’d sound… hollow. Cold. Meaningless. She just crossed the room in a few steps, slid down the wall beside Mission, and put an arm around her. Mission leaned into her, shaking with suppressed sobs, and Wren squeezed her shoulder.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Mission,” she said quietly.

Mission took a shaky breath and started sobbing in earnest. Wren just held her. She needed to get this out, needed to grieve for her planet, for her home. She’d talk when she was ready.

It took a while for her sobs to subside completely. Several times, it seemed as though it would pass, but moments later the shaking returned, stronger than ever. Eventually, after several deep breaths, she stopped openly sobbing, though she was still shaking barely perceptibly. Wren squeezed her shoulder again and waited for her to speak.

“I just… I just can’t believe it’s just—just gone,” she managed finally. “It was my home, I grew up there, I met Zaalbar there, and now everyone I’ve ever known—” She inhaled shakily. “Gadon, Zaerdra, the Beks, Zelka, all of them, they’re just—”

“They will be remembered,” Wren promised. “They saved my life, every single one of them. The Beks. Zelka. Marl. And the others; that poor girl, Dia. The waitress girl, Ada, from the Vulkar base. Shaleena and Hendar, from the Undercity. Hudrow, from Davik’s estate. They will be remembered. And one day… one day, Malak will pay for it.”

Mission took another deep breath and the shaking slowed a little. “I know. And I want to—I want to help you. You need all the help you can get. And—and sitting here crying that they’re gone won’t bring them back, and it won’t stop Malak.”

“But sometimes you just need to,” Wren finished softly. “I understand. C’mere.” Mission leaned back on her shoulder hesitantly, and Wren just held her, rubbing her back soothingly. She remained silent. The shaking resumed, just a little bit, but after a few minutes it faded. Glancing down at her charge, Wren saw why; she’d cried herself to sleep.

The hold door opened. Wren put a finger to her lips, indicating to whoever was entering that they needed to stay quiet.

Carth nodded, spotting Mission, and walked over as quietly as possible. “She okay?” he whispered.

Wren smiled sadly. “What do you think, Carth?” she whispered back. “No, she’s not. But she will be. She’s strong.”

Carth gazed at the Twi’lek with something in his eyes Wren couldn’t identify. “I know,” he said quietly. “Here, let me get her to bed.” He knelt down, gently lifting Mission from under her knees and back, shushing her slightly when she stirred. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said to Wren. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

He returned a few minutes later to find Wren exactly where he’d left her.

“What about you?” he asked after a moment.

“Hm?” Wren was confused.

“Are you okay?”

Wren was silent. Carth nodded to himself and slid down the wall to sit beside her, right where Mission had been sitting, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Dantooine…” he said after a moment. “I know it’s the last thing you want, but I had no choice. If nothing else, Bastila needs to get back to the Jedi, but… the moment you want out, I’m with you.”

“I felt them, Carth,” Wren said quietly. “Every death on that planet, I could feel it. They—they were in pain, they were dying, people who _helped me,_ people _I_ helped, and I couldn’t stop it. And I—” She stopped; took a breath. “It was my fault. I don’t know,” she added quickly as Carth opened his mouth, brow furrowing. “It was just… a feeling I got, it was me, somehow, I did this to them.”

“Wren, that makes no sense.”

“I know.” She laughed humorlessly. “Half my life doesn’t make sense right now, Carth. But that? That’s true. I can… I don’t know, I can feel it.” She took a shaky breath. “When I felt it… them… dying… I pushed it away. I got rid of the feeling and moved on with my life. Too easily. Like… like it had happened before. Like I’d felt an entire planet, dying, and just… moved on. I don’t want… I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, but I… I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to just… move on. I want to remember. I want to feel it, what they felt, what I caused, I—”

“Wren,” he said quietly. “Stop.” She took another shaky breath, turning her head to look at him. “You didn’t do this,” he said. “You, Wren Grua, are a good person. You saved all those people back there, one at a time—”

“And it didn’t make any difference,” she replied bitterly. “They’re all dead now. Dia. Gadon and the Beks. Ada, Shaleena, Hendar, Marl, Hudrow.”

“And you remember their names. Every single one you saved, you remember. You didn’t do this, Wren. Malak did. And he will pay, I promise you that. Even if the only way I can help with that is by killing his top admiral.”

She laughed bitterly, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. “I’ll help you kill Saul Karath,” she said. “I promised you before and I’ll promise you again, but that’s not enough. Malak needs to die. I need to—” _fix my mistakes,_ her gut said, but that made no sense. “I need to stop him,” she said instead. “From tearing apart the rest of the galaxy too. Telos, now Taris. Where next?”

“Nowhere,” Carth said firmly. “We’ll stop him.”

“You and me?”

He nodded. “You and me.”

Silence descended as both contemplated what they’d just sworn they would do. Then Carth spoke again.

“Wren?”

“Hm?”

“Why _are_ you telling me all this? Why trust me, even after everything I—” He broke off, troubled.

Wren took a minute to answer, choosing her words carefully. “Because you were honest with me,” she said finally. “Even when you thought I was going to kill you at any turn, you were straight up about it. When I asked. No beating around the bush, no trying to hide it or go behind my back. And you… even when you didn’t… well, if you even do now… trust me… you’ve always had my back. From the moment we met, and I was some unknown quantity in that escape pod who may or may not have been responsible for the whole thing… you saved me. Selven almost killed me because you weren’t there, and even then, you pulled me out of the fire. You said before you couldn’t have done it without me, but I…” She sighed. “I couldn’t have done it without you either.”

Carth let out a deep sigh and rested his head on hers, gently. “I do, you know,” he said after a minute’s silence.

“Do what?”

“Trust you,” he returned quietly.

He could almost sense Wren’s answering smile.

 _________________________

Wren was in the cockpit when they emerged from hyperspace. She glared down at the lush, green planet, already seeming to feel the sense of calm and serenity radiating off of it.

She didn’t like it one bit.

Nevertheless, Carth brought them in for a landing, touching down in a courtyard full of people in robes interacting with people not in robes.

“Dantooine,” breathed Bastila as they touched down. “It seems like a lifetime since I last set foot on her surface, though in truth it has only been a few months. We should be safe from Malak here, for now at least.”

“Safe?” Carth said with half a glance at Wren. “You saw what his fleet did to Taris, there—there wasn’t a building over two stories high left standing, they—they turned the planet into one big pile of rubble!”

“Even the Sith would think twice before attacking Dantooine,” Bastila insisted. “There are many Jedi here, including some of the most powerful Masters of the Order. There is great strength within this place.”

“Seems to me like that would be more of a reason to attack it, rather than leave it alone,” Wren interjected. “I agree with Carth. We need to keep moving.”

“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Bastila. “We have nowhere else we can rely on to be safe. We can get supplies here and recuperate. The Enclave is a place of mental and physical healing, something we could all use after what we’ve been through.”

With an apologetic glance at Wren, Carth nodded. “I guess you’re right. It’s… not easy to witness the annihilation of an entire planet.” Wren’s heart lurched. In all the chaos she’d almost forgotten Carth had witnessed this before. “I know Mission’s taking it pretty hard.”

“She will find a way to come to terms with her grief,” said Bastila. “She is stronger than she appears. We just need to give her time.” She paused for a moment, nodding, before she continued. “Now I must go speak with the Council. I need their advice on… recent developments. When I return, I will meet you here.” She left the cockpit, and Wren watched from the viewport as she descended the loading ramp and ran off into the Enclave.

Wren breathed a sigh. “Thought she’d never leave.”

Carth nodded. “I can take care of getting the supplies, if you’d rather not…” he trailed off.

“Leave the ship? At all? You got that right. I may stretch my legs, in the middle of the night, but… thanks, Carth.”

Carth and Canderous left the ship to see to some repairs, resupplying, and refueling, while Wren and Mission stayed in the ship playing Pazaak. Wren would let Mission win, more often than not, but she made an effort often enough that Mission wouldn’t get suspicious. Mostly she was just enjoying spending time with her, and the added bonus that it allowed her to block out the fact that there were more than a hundred Jedi milling around outside her ship.

“So, tell me about you, Mission,” she said after several games mostly in silence.

Mission looked up. “Like what?”

Wren looked at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “D’you have a family or something?”

Mission inclined her head. “Big Z’s my family, you know? My parents… I guess they’re dead. It was just me on my own until the day I saw Zaalbar in the Lower City. I could tell right away he was in trouble.”

“Why? What happened?”

“This was before the gang wars were out of hand, but even then, the Vulkars were scum. A few of them were hassling Big Z, trying to pick a fight, but he wasn’t looking for trouble.”

Wren snorted. “Morons. Who’d want to pick a fight with a Wookiee?”

“Huh. No kidding. Anyway, I don’t like the Vulkars at the best of times, but when I saw them picking on this poor Wookiee, all alone on a strange planet, overwhelmed by the big city, I just lost it. I screamed out, ‘Leave him alone, you core-slimes!’ and charged right at them. One of them saw me coming and smacked me so hard he just about knocked me cold.”

“Heh. Real smooth. I take it Zaalbar wasn’t too happy about that?”

Mission grinned smugly. “Nope. He let out this howl and yanked that Vulkar a meter up off the ground and held him there by his throat.”

Wren started laughing. “I bet that was a sight. What did the others do?”

Mission’s grin widened. “The other two screamed and ran off. Can’t say I blame them. First time you seen an angry Wookiee up close? Isn’t a pretty sight. I thought Zaalbar was gonna rip that punk’s arms off and beat him to death with his own fists. The Vulkar was so scared he fainted. Or… maybe it was just Big Z’s breath knocked him out. I keep telling Zaalbar to brush those choppers of his, but he neeeeever listens. Just stay upwind when he’s speaking and you’ll be fine. Anyway, I knew those Vulkars would be back with friends, so I grabbed Zaalbar and we took off. Ever since then we’ve been a team. We look out for each other, you know?”

Wren nodded thoughtfully. “How’d he end up on Taris? Before you met?”

Mission shrugged. “He was fleeing some kind of trouble back on Kashyyyk. Something to do with slavers, I think. That’s all I know, really. Big Z doesn’t like to talk about it. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s the strong, silent type. Doesn’t much matter to me, though. I accept him for what he is, not what he was. Me and Zaalbar like to… live in the present.”

“Good to know.” Wren smiled. “But I think I have a game of Pazaak to win.” She tapped her cards on the table.

“Ha! As if! Less talking, more playing! Like I used to tell my brother, fast talk and slick words don’t get the job done.”

Wren looked up from her cards. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Mission winced. “Yeah, my brother’s a touchy subject. Just so happens, I don’t really feel like talking about it right now. Let’s get back to our game, shall we?”

“You’re on.” Wren winked, flipping over the first card.

That afternoon, however, things took a turn for the worse. Bastila came running back onto the ship, followed quickly by Carth, who seemed to be trying to get information out of her. Bastila ignored him entirely, took a moment to catch her breath, then said, “I’ve spoken with the Jedi Council. They request an audience with you.”

Carth stopped dead. “An audience with the Jedi Council? That’s pretty unusual, especially for someone who’s not even a Jedi. What’s this about, Bastila?”

“I’m sorry, Carth, but I cannot tell you. All I ask is that you trust in the Force and the wisdom of the Council.”

“No,” said Wren firmly.

“I’m sorry?” Bastila seemed genuinely surprised.

“You should be,” Wren shot back. “I said no. I’m not leaving the ship, I’m not meeting with the Jedi, and that’s final.”

Bastila narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid you won’t be cleared to leave this planet until you do.”

Wren slumped back into her chair. One meeting with the Council, or being stuck on this planet until she could bribe her way off. The more stubborn part of her was inclined to go with the latter, but the reasonable part knew it would be much less painful if she just went along with this for now.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But if I find out this is some kind of trap, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Carth grabbed Bastila by the shoulder. “I don’t like being left out of the loop here, but I’m not looking to get you in any trouble with the Jedi Masters. We’ll do this your way for a while.”

“I appreciate it, Carth,” Bastila replied coolly. “Come,” she said to Wren. “They’re waiting for us.”

She led the way out of the ship, with Wren trailing reluctantly behind and Carth walking beside Wren. As they entered the Enclave, however, a young Jedi with a blonde ponytail held up a hand to stop Wren. “You there! Padawan!” she called. “Why are you not wearing the customary robes of the Jedi? Do you mock the honored traditions of our Order?”

“I’m sure I would, if I were actually a Padawan,” Wren replied coldly. “I’m only here because of _her—"_ she pointed at Bastila, “and I _didn’t_ come here to be scolded by you.”

The Jedi backed off a little. “No, I suppose you did not. However, you claim you are not a Padawan? I find this very hard to believe. I sense the Force is strong within you. If this is some type of jest, it is in very poor taste. The Jedi Order is not a subject for jokes,” she reprimanded.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Wren snapped. “I’m here, apparently, to talk to the Jedi Council. No one said _anything_ about having to talk to other Jedi. Good day to you.” And she brushed past her, following Bastila, who had gone ahead toward the Council chamber.

Carth caught up to her a few moments later, stopping her just out of sight of the Council chamber. “Are you all right?”

She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then looked up at him. “No, Carth, I’m not. I’m being coerced into meeting with the Jedi Council. I—I half considered just running, taking off without clearance and going into hiding, but… they’d find me. And the last thing I want is to give the Jedi an excuse to hunt me down.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Just… one meeting, right? And tomorrow we can leave.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I hope so, Carth. I hope so. I should… go.”

He released her shoulder, and she turned to enter the chamber. “Good luck,” he called after her.

“I’ll need it,” she muttered under her breath, walking resignedly into the chamber.


	7. Everything Changes

Bastila was already waiting, standing in a semicircle with four Jedi Masters. As Wren approached, one of the Masters, a Twi’lek, spoke up.

“Ah, so you are the one who rescued Bastila. We have been discussing your rather… special case.” That didn’t sound good. “I am Zhar, a member of the Jedi Council. With me are Master Vrook—” A grumpy-looking old human who nodded at her irritably, “Master Vandar—” an alien she’d never seen before, no more than two or three feet tall, green, with large, pointed ears, “and of course, the chronicler of our Academy, Master Dorak.” Another human, not as old as Vrook, at least by appearances, who looked much less grumpy. “Padawan Bastila I’m sure you are already familiar with.” Bastila nodded at Wren.

“What do you want from me?” Wren asked cautiously.

“Bastila tells us you are strong in the Force.” Oh no. No. If this was going where she thought it was going… “We are considering you for Jedi training.”

“No,” she said instantly. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not ready for this.”

Vrook’s lip curled a little. “Master Zhar speaks out of turn, perhaps.”

“Good. Listen to him. I—I would make a terrible Jedi.”

Vrook stared her down for a moment before continuing. “We need indisputable proof of your strong affinity to the Force before we would even consider accepting you for training.”

“Good. Great. Excellent. You want proof? It’s not—”

“Proof?” Bastila cut through Wren’s rambling. “Surely the entire Council can feel the strength of the Force within this woman, and I have already related to you the events that took place on Taris.”

Vrook shrugged, unimpressed. “Perhaps it was simple luck.”

“We both know there is no luck,” Zhar chided. “There is only the Force. We all feel the power within Bastila’s companion, though it is wild and untamed. Now that this power has begun to manifest itself, can we safely ignore it?”

_“Yes,”_ Wren interjected firmly. “You’re clearly having trouble deciding, so let me decide for you. No. I won’t be a Jedi.”

She was ignored. “The Jedi training is difficult, even when working with a young and open mind,” Vrook said. “Teaching a child is hard. How much harder will it be for an adult to learn the ways of the Jedi? Especially one with this… resistance to learning our ways?”

“The Jedi do not normally accept adults for training, though there are rare exceptions in the history of our order,” Dorak observed. “But you are a special case.”

“I agree with Master Dorak.” Vandar spoke for the first time. “Many of our own pupils are leaving the Jedi order to follow the Sith teachings. We need recruits to stand against Malak. With Revan dead—”

“Are you certain Revan is truly dead?” Vrook cut in. “What if we undertake to train this one, and the Dark Lord should return?”

_“No!”_ Wren interjected. The Council fell silent, eyes fixed on her. “Let me make this easier for you. _No._ I won’t be a Jedi. My crew and I will be leaving tomorrow. Goodbye.”

She turned her back on them and exited the chamber as quickly as she could without running. She could feel their eyes on her back, but she didn’t turn. As soon as she was out of sight, she broke into a sprint, running through the halls of the Enclave until she was within the safety of the _Ebon Hawk._ Night was falling around her as she ran through the courtyard, but she paid it no heed. All she wanted was to get away from the damned Jedi.

She curled up in the pilot’s chair, hugging her knees. “Just one meeting, they said, then you can go, they said. Liars!” she snarled. She heard footsteps approaching the cockpit. “Go away!” she snapped. “I won’t do it, Bastila, so you might as well just go back to your damned Jedi Council and tell them I’m leaving.”

“Wren?”

She looked up sharply. “Carth!”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

With one deep breath, most of the fire left her. “They lied,” she said. “The Jedi. It wasn’t just one meeting. They want me to…” She couldn’t say it. The words wouldn’t leave their lodgment in her throat.

“To what?”

“To be… one of _them,”_ was all she could manage.

“They want to make you a Jedi?”

She nodded. “Apparently I’m _strong in the Force_ or some other nerf-shit. But I won’t do it. You know how I feel about Jedi. To _become_ one of them…” She shuddered.

“Hey.” He stepped up beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll keep Bastila out of your way.”

“You’d do that?”

He gave her a half-smile. “Hey, you offered to help me on my potentially suicidal quest for vengeance. This is the least I can do. Get some rest.”

Eternally grateful for Carth, Wren retreated into the women’s bunkroom, where Mission was shuffling her Pazaak deck.

“Hey, what’s up?” the girl asked.

“If Bastila asks, I’m asleep,” was all Wren said before she crashed on her own bunk.

She didn’t sleep well.

_In the dream, she was pacing. Before her was an ancient door, and opposite her, a young man._ Malak, _she realized. Younger. With his jaw._

_“Is this wise?” he asked. “The ancient Jedi sealed this archway.”_

_She paid him no heed, ceasing her pacing and waving a hand in front of the door, which slid open as though it had been waiting for her._

_“If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back,” Malak continued, though he still followed as she entered the crypt. “The Order will surely banish us.”_

_Her voice was garbled when she spoke—muffled, she guessed, by the mask she had just realized she was wearing. “You speak as though we have not already left, Malak.”_

_“Revan—”_

_“You know our mission. Our cause.”_

_“But Revan… are the secrets of the Star Forge truly so valuable? Can its power truly be worth the risk?”_

_A stone claw opened at the back of the crypt. A ball of light shot up from within it, glowing brighter and brighter, until—_

Wren sat up with a gasp. Breathing heavily, she took stock of her surroundings. The _Ebon Hawk._ Dantooine. The damned Jedi.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” she called, and the door opened to reveal Carth.

He stopped short at the sight of her. “This morning’s getting stranger by the minute. First Bastila comes outside looking like she saw a ghost, and now you look the same. What happened?”

She shifted her legs so that her feet rested on the floor, and Carth sat beside her on the bed. “Remember what I told you on Taris?” she asked quietly. “About what happened when I met Bastila?”

“The vision.” Carth nodded. A pause. “Wren, what happened? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “It happened again. Different vision this time… Malak and...and Revan in some ruins, but it was—it was the same. I _was…_ Revan.”

Carth sighed. “Bastila said to send you to the Council when you woke up. I—I don’t know what they want, but Wren, maybe they can help you.”

She eyed him warily. “How?”

“These visions you keep having. Maybe there’s some way the Jedi can block them. Or—or something. I don’t know.”

“Or maybe it’s just my proximity to the Jedi that’s _causing_ them,” she snapped. “If I go back in there, they’ll keep trying to make me a Jedi, and I—I _can’t—_ ”

“I know. Wren, I know. But… give me another option, here.”

“We leave. Right now. They can’t stop us. We’ll go somewhere—Tatooine, maybe, Nar Shaddaa, Onderon, Kashyyyk, I don’t care. Just… _away_ from them.”

Carth took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay. Let’s go. Mission, Zaalbar, Canderous, and T3 are all aboard. We’ll go wherever you want.”

Wren threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, and released him.

A few minutes later, Wren took the co-pilot’s seat as Carth prepared the ship for takeoff. “I mean it,” Wren said. “Thank you for this, Carth. It… it means everything.”

She could feel it—almost like an outcry from below as the ship took off, rocketing through the atmosphere. “They know,” she said. “And they’re not happy.”

“So, where to?” Carth asked.

“Somewhere remote. Out of the way. Where Jedi don’t normally go.” She paused for a moment, thinking, weighing her options. “Kashyyyk,” she decided after several moments. “We can lie low there for a while, leave if they get too close.”

“Kashyyyk it is,” said Carth, punching in the coordinates. And the _Ebon Hawk_ was gone, vanished into the depths of hyperspace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s short so I’ll give you two. :)


	8. The Will of the Force...

_The depths of the forest were suffocating. The trees were more gigantic than anything she’d ever seen. But something… was out of place. A computer, and a hologram projector, just sitting on the forest floor, completely undisturbed._

_Her gloved hands typed in something on a console, and beside the computer, a black clawed object opened, ejecting a spitting ball of light…_

 

Wren entered the cockpit just as they were about to pull out of hyperspace, dropping unceremoniously into the co-pilot’s seat.

“How are we looking?” she asked Carth as he disengaged the hyperspace controls.

He shrugged. “Fine. Coming in towards Kashyyyk. You’ll be able to lie low for a while, steer clear of the Jedi.”

She frowned. “You’re not staying?”

He shook his head, looking almost… _regretful_. “I need to report back to the fleet. I can stay for a few hours, to make sure you’ll be all right, but I… I have a duty.”

Her heart sank. She should’ve expected this, she knew, but there’d been so much on her mind… “Of course,” she said. Then, “We’ll miss you.”

He looked over at her, studying her for a moment. “You all right?”

She shrugged. “Might as well get used to the visions, I guess.”

“Revan again?”

“I didn’t see Malak, but I guess so. Accessing… something that looked like the thing they found in my vision on Dantooine. Looked like it was on the forest floor.”

Carth nodded sympathetically. “If it helps any, you shouldn’t plan on going anywhere near the forest floor.” He paused for a moment, listening. “Receiving landing coordinates, courtesy of Czerka Corporation.”

“Czerka? Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “They’re calling the planet ‘Edean.’ You sure we’re in the right place?”

“You’re the one who punched in the coordinates, you tell me.”

“This is Kashyyyk. It has to be. Unless something went wrong with the instruments, but I would’ve noticed.” He looked over at Wren. “What do you know about Czerka?”

“They’re scum,” she replied without hesitation. “Corporate assholes, willing to do whatever to get credits, no matter how immoral or illegal it is. And they get away with things, since they bribe people and they’re a huge company and all that.”

“I take it you don’t get along.”

She snorted. “Understatement of the year award winner, Carth Onasi, ladies and gentlemen. No. We’ve crossed paths several times, and if I can do anything to stop them, I will.”

They landed on the designated pad, and Wren geared up for departure. “Carth, Canderous, with me, for the moment. T3 too. You two—” she indicated Mission and Zaalbar, “—stay here until I know more. I don’t like this.”

An Ithorian and two humans were waiting outside the loading ramp.

**“Welcome to the planet G5-623, human,”** the Ithorian greeted.

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight. Is this or is this not Kashyyyk?”

**“The native Wookiees refer to the planet as Kashyyyk, yes,”** the Ithorian confirmed. **“However, Czerka Corporation has redesignated it G5-623, or Edean.”**

“Fantastic. If that’s all, we’ll be going now.”

**“I’m afraid I must charge you a docking fee of 100 credits.”**

Wren turned and looked the Ithorian dead in the eye. “I really don’t think that’s necessary, do you? After all, we’ve come to this planet to trade, and if I pay you 100 credits now, that’s 100 credits less that I have to spend in your stores.”

The Ithorian hesitated. Wren stared harder. **“Very well,”** he agreed. **“I’ll waive the fee just this once. Will you be requiring a translator?”**

“I understand the Wookiee language. I’ll be fine.” Wren nodded to the Ithorian and headed towards the walkway. As she went, however, another group of what looked like Czerka lackies came running up. One of them placed a restraining hand on her arm.

“We’re under orders to take you into custody,” he said. “The local Wookiee leader wants you and your companions delivered to him. He has a proposition.”

“Interesting way of proposing something, taking people prisoner. Very well. Come on, let’s go.”

_“All_ of your companions,” one of the others clarified. “Including those you instructed to stay behind.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Wren demanded.

“Come out here. Now,” the first man ordered, raising his voice.

Mission and Zaalbar descended the loading ramp somewhat sheepishly. Three more guards emerged from the sides of the ship, surrounding them with drawn weapons.

The walk to the Wookiee village was quiet, at least at first. Zaalbar walked beside Wren, and after a few minutes of silence, he spoke up.

**“Kashyyyk… my home. I should have prepared you before coming here, but I don’t know if I’ve prepared myself.”** Wren looked over at him to let him know she was listening, waiting for him to continue. **“I didn’t leave Kashyyyk voluntarily. Mission might have told you how I was fleeing slavers, but there was more. I am an exile. The slavers on Kashyyyk only took me after I was forced to leave my village home twenty years ago.”**

“This village… wouldn’t be the one we’re being taken to now, would it?”

**“I’m afraid so. I was exiled when I attacked my brother. He’d been making deals with slavers, allowing them to get a foothold.”**

“If he was dealing with slavers, shouldn’t _he_ have been the one exiled?”

**“My father did not believe me when I told him what I had found.”**

“That seems awfully prejudiced of him.”

**“You don’t understand. When I attacked my brother, I was so mad, I… I used my claws. You don’t know what that means to a Wookiee.”**

“Using your claws as a weapon is dishonorable,” Wren responded immediately. “A sign of madness.”

**“You are correct, Wren. I am an exile, a mad-claw in the eyes of my people. They will not accept my presence here. I should not have come.”**

“Well, in case you didn’t notice, we weren’t really given a choice here. Don’t worry, Z. We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

**“I fear that will be sooner rather than later.”**

They lapsed into silence as they stepped through a gateway. The Czerka man guarding it nodded at their guards as they passed.

After a few more minutes of silence, Zaalbar spoke again. **“Can you sense it? The wind, the sounds, the smells… I feel it all now that we are away from the spaceport. The walkway is new, probably built by the slavers, but I know the trees. My village is not far from here.”**

“What should I be expecting?”

**“I’m sorry, I do not know. It has been so long since I left, and I only know the way things were. Much has changed.”** He paused. **“I should warn you of one thing. I do not know if it will help or hinder you here. My father was… very powerful. A chieftain. Perhaps his feelings have mellowed over the years, but if my brother has had his ear all this time… I may be very unwelcome.”**

“Heh. Would that have anything to do with why we were taken prisoner in the spaceport?”

**“Perhaps,”** Zaalbar replied. **“I only hope we can convince him to let us go. We can leave this planet and seek out another.”**

“Agreed. Stay close. I’ll try and talk us out of this.”

As they passed through the village, Wren kept half an eye on Zaalbar. His head hung down in shame, and he seemed to shrink, as though he was trying to avoid being noticed. He probably was.

The Czerka guards led them to the center of the village, directing them to enter the largest hut. “Go in there. The chieftain is waiting for you.”

Zaalbar groaned softly.

The Wookiee waiting for them, however, appeared not to be who Zaalbar was expecting. He was small, for a Wookiee, a few inches shorter than Zaalbar, but he drew himself up to his full (and still considerable) height, staring down at Wren and ignoring Zaalbar completely.

**“Step forward and address the mighty and wise Chuundar, outsider,”** he said. **“I do not often allow visitors of your kind. You should be honored.”**

Zaalbar roared. **“You are flanked by Czerka slavers! Are they not outsiders? Or have you sold all of Kashyyyk to them,** **_brother?_ ** **”**

Chuundar chuckled. **“Ah, brother, you have been exiled a long time. You should not speak in that tone. Things are different now. You are a madclaw without honor. You have no voice among our people. I, on the other hand, am Chieftain.”**

Wren raised an eyebrow. “However you’ve kept it hidden all these years, the truth will come out eventually. It always does.”

Chuundar laughed again. **“You may talk, but no one will believe you. I’ve had a long time to guide what my people think. They trust me, the mighty Chuundar. Even with my brother exiled and my father enslaved, I rose to protect  my people in spite of it all.”**

Wren’s other eyebrow joined the first. “Seriously? They think allowing them to be enslaved is protection? I think your people need a serious reality check, Z.”

**“Father was enslaved?”** Zaalbar demanded. **“‘Mighty Chuundar’? What are you talking about? You were the runt!”**

Chuundar roared aggressively. **“I am no runt!”** He paused, cleared his throat, and continued in his normal tone. **“As I was saying, Zaalbar, a lot has changed in your years away. We will discuss this soon enough.”**

“So, uh, is there a point to dragging us here? Other than family squabbles, of course.”

Chuundar glared at her. **“I haven’t killed Zaalbar because he is my brother, and I had hoped we could come to an agreement. You, outsider, are irrelevant, as are your companions. I may be able to put you to use with a menial task. Zaalbar will have to stay here of course.”**

“No way. I need Zaalbar with me.”

**“This is not up for debate, outsider!”** Chuundar snapped. **“The task is simple. Another Wookiee has suffered Zaalbar’s fate, gone mad and been exiled. He now lurks in the Shadowlands. More importantly, he’s pestering my Czerka allies during their Shadowland expeditions. Not good for business.”**

“Sounds like an upstanding citizen. What do you want me to do about it?”

**“Zaalbar will remain with me until you hunt down and kill this madclaw. Czerka would never let me hold you, but they don’t care what I do with fellow Wookiees. Go to the Great Walkway and speak with Gorwooken. He will permit you entry into the Shadowlands. Now leave my presence, outsiders, and do not return until the madclaw is dead.”**

As they turned to leave, Wren turned to Zaalbar. “Play along for now, Z. I’ll see what I can do.”

Chuundar’s irritated roar chased them out of the hut and back into the main village.

Wren sighed. “Well, this isn’t what I intended when I proposed running away to some backwater planet.”

“We should probably head for the Shadowlands,” Canderous said. “If you want your Wookiee friend back, we’re going to have to play along with this guy.”

“Agreed.” She paused. “Carth?”

“I’m with you,” he said. “Until you’re safe.”

She smiled. “Let’s go then.”

A Wookiee escort delivered them to Gorwooken. Chuundar’s instructions were clear—no detours, no distractions, straight to the Shadowlands, find the madclaw, and get out.

Gorwooken was less than pleased to be playing host to a bunch of outsiders. **“I only allow you passage because Chuundar orders it,”** he snarled. **“The descent is long. Be still, or we will attract… unwelcome visitors.”**

The descent was indeed long, and incredibly boring—until Wren started paying attention to their surroundings. They were conversing very little, and in low voices as Gorwooken had warned, but all around them were the wroshyr trees, and the creatures that lived among them—kinrath skittering along a bough, mykal flapping a little too close to the basket for comfort.

At long last, they touched the ground, and Wren sprang out of the basket as quickly as she could, stretching her legs.

“There’s a path over here,” Canderous called from the north side of the clearing. “Faint, but visible. And… signs of combat,” he added a moment later. “Dead katarn. Looks like they’ve been burned. Their wounds are all cauterized.”

Wren approached, looking over his shoulder. “Burned, but not as though they were on fire,” she agreed. “This was intentional—something did this. Czerka, maybe? Some kind of plasma torch?”

“I don’t know.” Canderous shook his head. “Keep your guard up.”

Their answer came not five minutes later as they followed the faint path. A sound reached Wren’s ears, coming from up ahead, and a faint glow manifested itself from around a corner. Her stomach clenched. She knew that sound.

_Lightsaber._

Had they found her already? Or was this Jedi unrelated to those of Dantooine who’d tried to convert her?

Only one way to find out. She steeled herself, set her shoulders, and continued forward. The others, sensing her change in demeanor, followed warily.

She rounded the corner just in time to see the last of the bull katarn fall to the green lightsaber. The one wielding the lightsaber deactivated it, turning towards them—he must have heard their footsteps coming, even from the middle of a fight.

“Ah, the damnable racket of battle,” said the old man. “Watch yourselves; even more of those crawling beasts are surely hiding in the underbrush.”

Wren frowned. “And you are…?”

“I’m Jolee. Jolee Bindo. Follow me to my camp and we’ll talk a bit.”

Warily, Wren took a step closer. “And… the lightsaber. Are you a Jedi?”

“Ah, don’t start fawning just yet, I’m too old for it.” Jolee waved a hand.

Wren’s posture relaxed slightly. Whoever he was, he wasn’t the type to be “fawning,” as he put it, over the Jedi. No Jedi she’d ever met had talked like that.

“Like I said, we can talk about it at my camp,” Jolee prompted. “Keep close. It’s nearby, under a log.” Wren opened her mouth, but Jolee cut her off. “Yeah, I live like some burrowing rodent. I fought the Sith! Now look at me. Hmph!” And he turned and walked away. Wren saw no choice but to follow him.

He led the way along the path for a few minutes, right at a fork, and then around a sharp left bend. Soon enough, his home came into view—as he’d said, it was under a log, but wroshyr trees being what they were, it was considerably more impressive than most people’s idea of a log. Jolee pulled aside a makeshift bark door, and they all ducked a bit to permit them entry.

A fire was burning in the center of the room, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. Smaller stumps were gathered in a corner, and the walls were adorned with what looked like years of effort in wood carving.

Wren’s observations were interrupted by Jolee clearing his throat. “Well, welcome to my home, such as it is. Pull up a stump and be comfortable. I’m sure you have questions, and we should discuss a few things.”

“I’m on a bit of a… mission,” she ventured. “Searching for a… madclaw? Though I’m starting to think he might not be as mad as Chuundar wanted me to think.”

“Heh. Czerka corporation was smart to put him in charge. He’s as good at destroying Wookiee culture as dropping corpses full of ardroxian flu. Will you work for him or against him, I wonder?”

“And you know about the madclaw?”

“As you suspected. Maddened with grief, perhaps, but not crazed. I helped him to pass to the lower forest where only a Wookiee could follow. But you… no, you won’t be getting there without my help, and my help has a price.”

“Okay, name it. Then we’ll talk.”

“You must do a task for me, then allow me to join with you. I will then remove certain barriers from your path.”

“And why exactly should I trust you? Sounds to me like you’re just some hermit who’s been in the woods too long.”

“Heh, well you’re not wrong about that. But I’m old and entitled to work you around a bit. Besides, the test is simple. Since they began expanding in the Shadowlands, the Czerka have left me alone for the most part. Until recently, anyway. A group of them set up camp not far from here. Poachers is all they are. I’d like them removed from this place.”

Wren’s eyes narrowed. “Removed how?”

“Well now, you may have to get creative on that point. Just remember that if I wanted them killed, I’d have done it myself. Find a better way.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do. Where’s the camp?”

“It’s back along the path we took to get here, and then to the northeast. Shouldn’t be too hard to find; if there’s one thing Czerka isn’t, it’s subtle. Hmph.”

Taking that as a dismissal, Wren headed back in the direction they had come, with the other four behind her.

As Jolee had predicted, it didn’t take long. Czerka wasn’t being _obvious,_ per se, but they did have a considerable amount of machinery set up, and that considerable amount of machinery certainly made a not insignificant amount of noise.

The commander saw their approach immediately. “Who are you, another civil merchant like that coro-slime up in the docking ring?” he sneered at Wren. “I don’t make deals, and I don’t persuade easily, so go back topside. Mess with my profits and I’ll see you dead.”

“You’re the poachers, right? Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Nothing pleasant, I assure you.” 

The commander’s eyebrows shot up. “That crazy old fool is still alive? I suppose he’s still upset that we don’t all live in little homemade shacks like he chooses. I’ve got a job to do here, and there’s nothing you or that old coot can do about it.”

Wren, sensing this wasn’t going anywhere, gave him an accommodating smile. “Very well. I’ll leave you to your profits then.” She and the others beat a hasty retreat around the corner.

They gathered around Wren. “I think we need a new plan,” Mission said. “Ideas?”

“I’ve got one,” said Wren. “You see those sonic emitters?”

Mission nodded. “Powering some kind of barrier, would be my guess. Keep the predators away? Why, what are you thinking?”

“If I can get around the commander, talk to the guards at the emitters, or maybe disable them somehow… they’d be chased off, at least theoretically. If that doesn’t work, or I get caught, at least I can say I tried.” She turned to the others. “Anyone want to run distraction?”

“I’ll handle it,” Canderous volunteered. “Can I shoot him if he gets too annoying?”

“Depends on your definition of too annoying. Knowing you? Probably not.”

Canderous cursed. “Punch him a little?” 

Wren sighed. “Maybe. Just—keep his attention. When I tap my head twice, job’s done.” She clipped on her stealth field generator. “Ready, go.”

She waited a few moments for Canderous to saunter up to the commander, then activated the generator and started sneaking around the perimeter. She made sure the commander’s back was to her, then leaned casually against the first sonic emitter and deactivated her stealth generator. “Hey there.”

The guard jumped about a foot in the air, but fortunately he didn’t react audibly. He stared at her for a few seconds, apparently dumbstruck, before he said, “You want anything, you’ll have to talk to the commander. He’s in charge of operations here.”

Wren smiled at him. “I’d rather ask about you, if that’s all right. I have to wonder, isn’t it a bit of a waste? Someone with… well, I’m certain your talents are considerable… being stuck down here guarding this thing?” She prodded the emitter with her boot.

“You know, you’re right. Why couldn’t they have just equipped this lump of tech with a blaster and let me go home?”

“A valid question,” Wren agreed. “You ever considered… making them rethink their arrangements? Maybe… show them that flesh-and-blood guards can be fallible, that sometimes something can… go wrong?”

“What, you mean like deactivating my emitter? Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but the commander’s watching too closely. Plus, there’d have to be at least two emitters down for anything to go wrong.”

“Well… I may be able to help with that. Just… tell me how to disable them.”

“I can give you the code for my emitter, but it’ll only work on mine. You’ll have to convince one of the others.”

“Looking around at you all? I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” Wren reactivated the stealth generator and stepped up to the input keyboard on the emitter. “The code.”

She typed it in as the guard recited it, and the emitter powered down.

“Good luck,” the guard said. 

“Same to you,” she replied. “And thanks.”

Keeping half an eye on Canderous and the commander, who were now engaged in a heated argument of some sort if the commander’s clenched fists were anything to go by, she moved around to the next emitter, deactivating her stealth generator as she approached.

“Hey there,” she greeted the guard. “Got a question for you.”

“You need anything, you’ll have to talk to the commander.”

She furrowed her brows. “What, do they give you a script or something? You sound exactly like your colleague. Which is why I imagine you’re just as unhappy down here as he is.”

“Do you want something, ma’am?”

“Sure do. The code to your emitter. It goes down, you all go home. Everyone’s happy, except your commander, and, well… he doesn’t deserve it. What do you say?” She stepped up to the emitter.

“I’d say that’s awfully risky, ma’am,” the guard replied.

“I bet you would. Anything else?”

Wren smiled as the guard recited his own code and she typed it in. “Czerka really should learn to keep employee satisfaction higher,” she observed. “Good luck to you.”

“If you want an immediate effect, I’d disable a third one too,” the guard advised. “With two down, it might take a while.”

She gave him a mock salute as she reactivated the stealth generator and moved to the third emitter. She didn’t even bother to deactivate the stealth this time. “Your code,” she hissed to the guard. The commander may have been distracted, but the guards were guards for a reason.

“Why should I?” he shot back.

“You want to go home, or not? This doesn’t work, I have to kill you all.”

That did the trick, and moments later, the third emitter was down. Wren deactivated her stealth generator long enough to give Canderous the signal—two taps on the head. He nodded subtly, paused, and punched the commander square in the jaw.

He fell flat on his back just as a roar echoed through the camp. The guards looked at each other for a few seconds, then  ran for it— _good choice,_ Wren thought. She made to follow them, but as the roar sounded again, louder, she _felt_ it, down to her bones, penetrating, it seemed, to her very soul. Darkness, reaching out of the shadows of the forest, but not a shadow, _tangible_ darkness, as though it were reaching out for _her…_

“Grua!”

She shook her head and her vision cleared just in time to see Canderous grab her by the arm. “Snap out of it! We have to get out of here!” They ran, Canderous keeping a tight hold on her arm, and she felt the living darkness stop for a moment, confused. Then it focused on her, overpowering, and she stumbled.

Darkness crept across her vision, like tendrils of a vine, slowly obscuring, and she felt herself falling—

A force lifted her from the ground— _Canderous,_ she thought—holding her, preventing her from being left behind.

“Go! _Go!”_ she heard him shouting as he ran, but she already felt the darkness receding. The creature, whatever it was, had given up the chase.

She blinked her vision back to normal as Canderous set her back on the ground.

“What the hell happened back there?” Carth demanded, grasping Wren by the shoulders as she wobbled a bit, still recovering.

Canderous, still breathing heavily, was the one to reply. “That monster,” he said. “I’ve heard of them, though I’ve never seen one, even during the wars. They were said to have been bred ages ago by the Sith, specifically to target Jedi.”

Everyone looked at Wren.

Her eyes widened. “I’m _not_ a Jedi! I don’t—”

“But they said you were strong in the Force,” Carth said, understanding dawning over his face.

“That creature,” said Canderous, “didn’t appear there by accident. It was targeting _you,_ Grua. Don’t think it matters to them whether you’ve got the title. Just that you’ve got the power.”

“But I don’t—” Wren slumped to the ground and leaned back on her hands, defeated. “Is there nowhere I can go to escape it? Even in the depths of the biggest forest in the galaxy…”

“Hey.” Mission sat beside her, patting her shoulder. “We won’t let the big bad monsters get you, will we guys?”

T3 beeped reassuringly.

“Come on,” said Canderous, offering her his hand. “We should get back to the old man. The sooner we find that Wookiee and get the hell out of here, the better.”

He led the way back to Jolee’s hut, the others trailing behind him in silence. Mission squeezed Wren’s hand reassuringly but didn’t speak. Carth kept sending concerned glances back her way.

Wren ignored them all until they reached Jolee’s hut, where she took the lead again.

“Welcome back!” the old man greeted. “I wonder, have you had any luck? Have you done as I asked?”

She grimaced. “I’m not sure I’d call it luck, but I’ve made sure the poachers are gone.”

Jolee nodded. “Yes, I could sense it as you approached. But I don’t sense death on you. You spared them… interesting.”

She frowned. “You did ask me to.”

“Did I? I don’t remember doing such a thing.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “You strongly suggested it, then. Either way, I did as you wanted. Though I’m not certain it helped them any; most of those guards were wimps.”

“Heh. Maybe you’re right. If the environment wants them dead, it’ll have to do it itself, huh?” He chuckled.

“So… you said you could get us to Chuundar’s so-called madclaw. I trust you weren’t making that up?”

“Oh, I can do that. There may be a thing or two more of interest to you in there, as well, though that remains to be seen.”

“Can you stop talking in riddles and get us to the Wookiee?”

Jolee cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, let’s get moving. I noticed the old paths some time ago. You probably wouldn’t have found them on your own. At least, not right away. There’s also a Czerka repulsor field blocking the path to the east, past the poacher camp. I saw it when it was installed, so I know how to pass it.”

“Okay then. Lead the way.”

Wren took point with Jolee while the others followed.

“Jolee?”

“Hm?”

“When I disabled the sonic emitters… something attacked the camp. A predator.”

Jolee harrumphed. “Well, I assume that was the idea, yes? Scare them off?”

“Well, yes, but it—it _felt…_ and Canderous said they were bred to kill Jedi…”

“Ahh, of course, my dear, I understand. The creature you encountered is called a terentatek. Legend says that they were bred by the Sith centuries ago to hunt down the Jedi, and that they resurface when a Sith presence grows strong in the galaxy. They are immune to the Force, in fact they feed on it. That would be why it targeted you.”

“But I’m not—”

“I can see you’re not a Jedi, my dear. Or that you very strongly don’t want to be one. But that doesn’t change your connection to the Force. With your power growing like it is, if you remain untrained, it may become a threat to you.”

“A threat? How?”

“Others, like the terentatek, will sense your power. Malak and the Sith, to name a few. “They will see you as a threat, and they will try to destroy you. And if you can’t use the power you have to stop them, they will succeed.”

Wren focused on the ground, troubled. “So… so are you saying I should go back? To the Jedi? Let them train me? _Submit_ to them?”

“I’m not saying what you should do one way or the other. I’m just telling you the stakes. You make your own decisions, lass. I’m not here to decide things for you.”

“And that, I’m sure, is where you and the Jedi got off on the wrong foot.”

He chuckled. “In more ways than one, I assure you.”

They lapsed into silence as they passed through the poacher camp. Jolee looked up at Wren. “Lass, I don’t believe you told me your name.”

“Wren Grua.” She offered a hand. 

Jolee shook it. “Well, Wren Grua, I believe you have a destiny ahead of you. I’d like to come along for the ride, if you don’t mind.” 

“You want to come with me?” Jolee nodded. “Even if I go back to the Jedi?”

He chuckled. “Now, that is an interesting question. I’ve no doubt they’d want to lecture me on something or other. No matter. I’m old, damn it, I’m allowed to have selective hearing from time to time. And nothing the Jedi say to me is going to change how I think. Hmph!”

Wren laughed as Jolee forged ahead, put slightly more at ease by his attitude toward the Jedi. If someone like _him_ could be a Jedi, surely she could find some way to manage it? Something like the Force could come in handy, after all. More than that, it could prove to be the difference between life and death, for her and her friends. Especially if, as Jolee said, it was going to start drawing attention.

Speaking of drawing attention…

“There it is,” said Jolee, gesturing at the purple repulsor field ballooning across the path, blocking it completely. “Beautifully subtle, isn’t it? At least compared to the other Czerka equipment dumped down here. It’s only been here a short while, or the Wookiees would have disabled it. They wouldn’t have had an easy time of it, though.”

Wren looked sideways at him. “Why would they put this here?”

“There are others. Each blocking similar points on certain paths. It’s all very calculated. Very precise. It might have been effective if it hadn’t relied on the creatures to be walking. Climbers don’t have much trouble getting around it.”

“Whatever. Just shut it down.”

Jolee muttered something about the impatience of the young as he stepped forward to examine the shield. “I can manipulate it for a moment… let’s see, how did the Czerka engineers do it…” He tweaked something, and the shield flickered and faded. “Ah. There we go. Now, keep moving. These are the most dangerous depths of Kashyyyk. A few surprises wait for us, I’ll wager.”

The first surprise came in the form of a Wookiee engaged in a fierce battle with four Mandalorians. Canderous snarled, “ Cowards,” and charged into the fray, firing on the armored men with his repeating blaster. Carth, Wren, and T3 stayed at a distance while Mission and Jolee drew their weapons to help the Wookiee.

The Wookiee stumbled and fell to one knee, still trying to fend off the attacking Mandalorian with his left hand while his right pressed on a wound in his side. The Mandalorian raised his sword for the killing blow only to be intercepted by a vibroblade inches from the Wookiee’s neck. Mission engaged him, driving him back, as Wren abandoned her attempt to fire on the remaining two warriors and ran to the Wookiee’s side.

**“Please, let this outsider be different from the others,”** he prayed as she knelt beside him.

“Where are you hurt?” He pulled back his hand to reveal a gaping wound in his side. _“Shit,”_ she muttered to herself, but she pulled out a life support kit, injecting the kolto into his veins. Dropping her backpack on the ground beside her, she dug around until she’d found bandages and began treating the wound to the best of her ability.

It wasn’t going to be enough.

“Jolee!” she called out, desperate. 

“I’m here, lass,” said the old man’s voice from beside her.

“Help him,” she begged. “I can’t do enough, without the Force, he’s going to—”

Jolee placed his hands gingerly over the wound and closed his eyes. At first, Wren thought she was imagining it, but the ethereal glow surrounding him became clearer and clearer, flowing through Jolee’s body and into the Wookiee’s wound. After several moments, the glow faded out and Jolee withdrew his hands. Wren pulled back the already blood-soaked bandages she’d been trying to apply and examined the wound—or what was left of it. It wasn’t completely healed, but he wasn’t dying anymore, nor was he bleeding.

“Thank you,” Wren breathed to Jolee.

**“Thank you, outsiders,”** the Wookiee echoed. **“They attack without honor, from the shadows. They killed my clan. They would not attack until we had put our weapons away!”** He snarled, furious at the mere thought. **“Avenge my people,”** he begged. **“Go to the clearings where you find the bodies of my fellows. Put away your weapons. And end them.”**

“I’ll do it if no one else will,” said Canderous from behind them. _“Hut’uune.”_

“Maybe we should split up,” Wren suggested. “Canderous, you can take T3 and Carth and deal with the Mandalorians. Jolee, Mission, and I will continue on to find Chuundar’s madclaw.”

“His name is Freyyr,” Jolee corrected. “We can start down this right path here—it’s anyone’s guess as to where he will be, but I’m usually pretty adept at finding him.”

Not far along the path, mist began to rise off the ground, obscuring it from view, snaking around their legs like a living thing trying to trap them there on the forest floor.

Wren stumbled, looked down, and gasped audibly. “Canderous,” she said when she’d recovered. “Try here.” She’d stumbled onto the body of a Wookiee, curled up on himself, like he was trying to shield himself from blows even in death.

“Good luck,” Canderous replied. He, Carth, and T3 stayed behind while the other three kept moving.

“I think…” Jolee muttered to himself. “Just down here…” They rounded a bend.

Wren stopped dead. Ahead of them was what appeared to be some sort of computer installation. A holographic interface was installed, along with—

“That,” she said pointing, “that claw thing. That was what Revan and Malak found. In—in my vision. It wasn’t here, though, it was… in some ruins.”

Jolee snorted. “Good luck getting it operational. Obstinate machine.”

As he spoke, a hologram flickered to life atop the computer interface. “Life-forms detected,” it said robotically. “Determining parameters. Initiating neural recognition.”

“Yep,” Jolee was nodding to himself. “I’d always get about that far, and then—”

“Primary neural recognition complete. Preliminary match found.”

Jolee did a double-take. “Match found? What the—? It always muttered something about _rejected patterns_ for me!”

“Begin socialized interface. Awaiting instructions. Greetings. This terminal has not been accessed for quite some time.”

“What is that thing, exactly?” Wren pointed at the claw-like structure.

“Error. Subject displays unfamiliarity to environment. Behavioral reconfiguration will be needed before access.” It paused. “I am sorry. I did not mean to confuse you. I will answer questions to the best of my programming limitations.”

“Ask it about a Star Map,” Jolee said quietly.

Wren turned back to him. “Is that what this is?” He nodded. Turning back to the interface, Wren repeated what he’d said. “I’m here to access the Star Map.”

“Accessing. Yes. I have found a Star Map in original system memory.” _Excellent._ Whatever this thing was, whatever Revan and Malak had wanted it for, maybe she could find out here. “Access is restricted.” _Well, shit._

She took a deep breath to calm her frustration. “Jolee, you may not have gotten far with this, but I doubt I’ll get much further.” Turning back to the interface, she asked, “What do I need to do to gain access?”

“Your request requires additional security access. You must be made to match the parameters I have been supplied.”

Wren frowned. “How can I match them if I don’t know what they are?”

“There are measures available. Personality profiling will verify the basic structure of your conscious mind. With that, I will determine whether you are ready to receive the Star Map, or can be made ready.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Information unavailable.” Wren grunted in frustration. “If you have further questions, ask them now. Access will terminate with success or failure of evaluation.”

Wren thought for a moment, then her lips curled into a smile. “Who most recently accessed this installation?”

Jolee groaned.

“Sorting by identity,” the computer replied. “Three attempts by Wookiee Freyyr, all denied. One hundred fifty-two attempts by human Jolee Bindo, all denied.”

Wren snorted. “A hundred and fifty-two? _Wow,_ you must have been bored.”

“Eh, what can I say? Not like there’s much else to do around here.” Jolee harrumphed.

Wren turned back to the computer. “And before that?”

“Information unavailable. Likelihood of removal by previous user, 100%.”

Her brows furrowed. “How far back does your information go?”

“Five standard years.”

“Revan,” Wren muttered. “Must have been. Okay. You may begin your… evaluation… thing.”

“Evaluation commencing. Results will be compared against the pattern in memory. Just act like you _should.”_

“Well that’s really helpful,” she muttered. “I guess now I just have to figure out what it wants.”

“You travel with a Wookiee and have encountered complications. Hypothetical: you and this Zaalbar are captured and separated.”

“How does it know about Big Z?” Mission demanded.

“I guess it hears things, even down here,” Wren muttered.

The computer continued. “If you both remain silent, one year in prison for each of you. However, call Zaalbar a traitor, and he will serve five years, while you serve none. He is offered the same deal, but if you both accuse the other, you both serve two years. What do you do? What do you trust him to do?”

Wren sighed. “I get it.” She turned to Mission. “Don’t take this personally. I’m remembering that Revan programmed this thing, after all.” She turned back to the interface. “Unable to rely on Zaalbar’s loyalty, I accuse him just to be safe.”

_“Hey!”_ Mission cried out. “Big Z wouldn’t—”

“Mission,” Wren cut in. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The hologram nodded. “Very good. The temperament of a companion is unreliable at best. You wisely trade the threat of one year or five, for none or two.”

“See?” Wren hissed to Mission. “It’s what it wants. _Revan,_ remember?”

Mission still looked unhappy, but she kept her mouth shut.

“This machine certainly seems to want a very specific type of response,” Jolee agreed.

“In this instance, the Wookiee is unreliable,” the computer continued. “His family has been a mire of treachery. I judge the answer correct. You display the proper behavior to match the pattern in memory. Evaluation will continue.”

“Get on with it, then.”

“Hypothetical: You are at war. Deciphering an intercepted code, you learn two things about your enemy. A single spot in their defenses will be at its weakest in ten days, and they will attack one of your cities in five days. What do you do with this information? What is the most efficient course of action?”

Wren thought for a moment. “Well, if there’s any way to reinforce the city while disguising it as something else, I’d do that. But if I can’t guarantee it won’t be discovered, too risky. Most likely scenario, I do nothing for my city and prepare my forces to attack their weak spot in ten days.”

“Very good. If you had moved to evacuate the city, you would have alerted the enemy to their lost codes. Ultimate victory required the deaths of the people in that city. You wisely ignored sentiment in your decision.”

“And those deaths spur my forces on.”

The hologram nodded, seemingly impressed. “Very good reasoning. I will apply it to the rest of my evaluation. You begin to match the pattern in memory.

“Hypothetical: remove the ongoing war from the previous example. Consider enemy states to be weak and remote. With no external threat, your empire stagnates. Your people become complacent and begin to question you. Same scenario as before: you discover an impending attack, but also a weakness that will come after. How do you react?”

Wren thought for several moments, scenarios flashing through her mind quicker than light speed. “I let the attack happen,” she said at last.

“Of course you do. It makes the most strategic sense. Your people will rally beneath you against the common foe. As their eyes turn outward, your rule will strengthen. The trappings of war grant many opportunities. You have matched the pattern in memory. I recognize you, and will fulfill my designated function.”

Wren nodded. “Let me access the Star Map.”

“Yes, you are ready. Soon you will recognize the proper course to follow. The Star Map is yours. This unit has now completed its primary duty and has finished with the subject. Executing final action. Activation of Star Map commencing. Parameters reset. Stasis initiated. End communication.”

The hologram flickered out as the claw-like structure began to move, opening just as she’d seen in the vision. A triangle of light flickered into existence between three interior crystals, and a glowing ball of light shot up out of the center, burning brighter and brighter until a holographic map of the galaxy appeared around it. The glow in the center faded slightly, remaining to represent the center of the galaxy.

Wren stepped forward to examine it as Jolee spoke. “Well, well. A Star Map. An ancient artifact of Dark Side power. Can’t say I’m surprised. I always knew there was something funny down here. I wonder if it’s had an effect on the evolutions of the creatures here in the Shadowlands. Might explain why it’s so dangerous down here.”

Wren nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting theory,” she mused, busy copying the Star Map’s data onto her datapad.

“But I suppose we don’t have time to test it now, do we? All right, now that you’ve got this, we should keep looking for Freyyr. I think we’ll find him east of here.”

Wren looked at him, head tilted to one side. “You knew the whole time, didn’t you? You wanted me to find this.”

“Bah. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m old, sometimes I lose my sense of direction.”

“Uh-huh.”

As they set off again, Mission stepped up to walk beside Wren. “Wren?” she asked almost shyly.

Shyness was so uncharacteristic of Mission that Wren was instantly on alert, though she did her best to hide it. “What’s wrong, kid?”

Her lack of response to the nickname made Wren even more sure that something was wrong. “Did… did you really mean it? All the things you said back there? Zaalbar?”

Wren sighed. “Of course not, Mission. Well, I mean the strategic things… definitely the second question makes the most strategic sense. You can’t afford to be sentimental when it comes to war. The third… well, it’s a moot point. I don’t have the patience to lead an empire anyway. But Zaalbar, no, of course I trust him. I was just working with the information I had to tell that hologram what it wanted to hear. With the idea in mind that it had been programmed by Revan, the answers weren’t all that difficult to figure out.”

“Okay,” said Mission, relieved. “I was just worried for a second that you—”

“Were secretly evil all along?” Wren smiled. “Don’t worry. If I’m going to turn evil, I’ll be sure to warn you about it first.” She winked. Mission laughed.

“Here!” Jolee called from up ahead. “Freyyr!”

The Wookiee in question snarled. **“More of you Czerka core-rats? Is even the heart of Kashyyyk not free from your kind?”**

“Ohhh boy,” Wren groaned.

“He’s almost feral after all this time.” Jolee sounded genuinely concerned. “Calm yourself, Freyyr. We are friends. Don’t you remember me?”

**“After years in the Shadowlands, I remember only that outsiders are not to be trusted! I’ll see you dead!”**

“Ohhh boy,” Wren repeated.

“Well, this may prove difficult.”

“Do you think, Jolee?”

“Don’t kill him,” was all Jolee said as he drew his lightsaber.

“Easier said than done,” Wren replied, drawing her sword.

Dodging a mad swipe from Freyyr’s claws, she ducked under his defenses, striking him with the flat of her blade. He backed up and swiped at her again before drawing the sword he had slung across his back.

“And this is our only hope for saving the Wookiees,” she muttered under her breath. “Excellent. Just great. I’ll be sure not to tell your people that you tried to kill me with your claws.” She ducked in again, getting behind his sword and going for a pommel strike to the head.

That did the trick. Freyyr stumbled backward, dazed, and Wren stopped fighting.

**“I… I am beaten,”** Freyyr groaned. **“Take my head, Czerka filth. You won’t get another chance. So swears Freyyr of Kashyyyk.”**

“For the last time, we’re not here to kill you, okay? Just listen for twenty seconds or so!”

Freyyr shook his head. **“The words of outsiders are tainted with lies. You can’t convince me otherwise.”**

Wren sighed through her nose, thinking for a moment. “Zaalbar and Chuundar,” she said after a moment. “You know them?”

That got Freyyr’s attention. **“What? Those are my sons! Why do you speak their names? Tell me!”**

“My name is Wren Grua. I came to Kashyyyk with Zaalbar, and Chuundar sent me down here with orders kill you. I’m hoping there’s a better way.”

**“To my shame, Zaalbar was exiled and enslaved. Do you dare claim to be my son’s owner, outsider?”**

Wren shook her head emphatically. “No. He follows me because of a life debt.”

Freyyr’s eyes widened. **“Does he? Then he sees something of worth in you. I will listen… cautiously. Gullibility has harmed me in the past. If I had seen the lies of Chuundar, he would have been exposed as a slaver, Zaalbar would not have been exiled… I did not believe Zaalbar’s claims. I believed the elder boy, as tradition dictated. The shame of Zaalbar’s attack blinded me.”**

“What happened, exactly?”

**“Zaalbar was the first to see it. He learned that Chuundar was dealing with Czerka, leading them to our hunting parties. Chuundar would blame disappearances on the dangers of the Shadowlands. Zaalbar was crazed when he found out. He attacked Chuundar with his claws. I thought he had gone mad… shed his honor. I was bound by the old ways.”**

“So when did you find out the truth?”

**“A year later. By then, Chuundar had spread lies of my own madness. I had no allies when I confronted him. Chuundar and his Czerka guards attacked me. I fled to the Shadowlands, but even there they followed.”**

“That’s when I first saw him,” Jolee put in. “I helped him lose his pursuers for a moment. Do you remember me now, Freyyr?”

The Wookiee nodded. **“Yes, I think I do. I am sorry for attacking. It has been so long since I have offered my trust, or accepted that of someone else.”**

“So. You said before you had no allies when you confronted Chuundar. You do now. What comes next?”

**“That would depend on you, Wren Grua. If you have indeed decided not to kill me, then you believe that I may still be a benefit to my people. There is a way I might challenge Chuundar, but it would take a lot to convince my people they have been lied to. If I appeal to the traditions of my people, I may be able to gather support.”**

“What kind of traditions?”

**“There is a legend of a great warrior from the old times. Bacca was his name, and he is greatly revered. Bacca found a crashed starship, our first hint of life elsewhere. He was a cautious old wook, and feared the taint of invaders. He constructed a vibroblade from the wreckage. It has long symbolized our independence. Only destined leaders have held it.”**

“So where is it?”

**“That is the problem. It was damaged a generation ago in a ritual battle. Here in the Shadowlands Rothrrrawr fought the Great Beast. He sought a challenge, but this arrogance got him more than he could handle. He survived, but the blade of the sword stayed in the creature’s hide. Our tales say it was taken because we had become undeserving. The hilt is still in the court of the Chieftain… with Chuundar. If the blade could be found, tradition could cast doubt on his rule.”**

“Leaving the door open to expose his corruption,” Wren finished. “All right. Where do I find this beast?”

“You don’t,” said a voice behind them.

Wren whipped around. Canderous was striding toward them, followed by Carth and T3, and he was carrying—

“Is that this sword blade he’s talking about?”

“Well, if the Great Beast he mentioned is one of those terenta-things, then yeah. Found it munching on a viper kinrath while we were hunting those Mandalorians.”

“Then it tried to munch on us,” Carth added.

“Fortunately for us, we have a droid with a flamethrower.” Canderous patted T3, grinning. “Sword looked like it could be worth something, so I cut it out.”

Freyyr sighed with relief. **“Since we have the blade, we should return to the treetops. Chuundar’s rule must end!”**

_____________________

As far as wildlife, the journey back to the Wookiee village was relatively peaceful. However, there was plenty of fighting without them. The Wookiees wasted no time in splitting between those who supported Chuundar’s continued rule and those who favored Freyyr’s return.

Gorwooken was among the former. He snarled something about Wren being a traitor before attacking, but seven against one wasn’t much of a contest. He didn’t last long.

The ride to the treetops was fraught with tension. Most were at least a little fidgety, nervous about the fight to come. Or rather, the civil war they were about to start. Between Freyyr and Wren, they were able to figure out how to operate the basket, lifting their group out of the Shadowlands and back up to the walkway, but fidgeting passengers didn’t exactly make it easy.

Back on the walkway, they encountered another Wookiee, accompanied by a hunting party. At the sight of Freyyr, the air was filled with roars and snarls, praising the chieftain’s return or heralding his downfall right there on the walkway.

Once Chuundar’s supporters were dead, the leader of the party, Chorrawl, turned to Freyyr.

**“Chieftain Freyyr! At last you have returned! I shall take you to the village, so that you may challenge Chuundar for the throne!”**

Chuundar wasn’t particularly happy to see them. **“Oh, that’s just great!”** he called out. Wren could only assume he was being sarcastic—she couldn’t exactly tell with Wookiee tones of voice. **“Everyone’s here now! It’s a family reunion!”**

**“Yes, son,”** Freyyr replied. **“By the blade of Bacca’s sword, I’ve come to end your treachery. No more will you sell your own people.”**

**“You have Bacca’s blade?”** Chuundar’s confident facade dropped for a moment as he took in the blade in Freyyr’s hand. **“So what?”** He regained his composure. **“I have the hilt, held by each true Chieftain in recent memory! Even you claimed it was all-important! We both have our ancient trinkets, so who will the people follow now. You? You are old and weak!”**

**“Shut up!”** Zaalbar cried out. **“Both of you! This ends today. I will not see Rwookrrorro suffer any more!”**

“Listen to him!” Wren burst out. “If you don’t end this now, one half or the other of your people will end up dead! Right now, _he’s_ the only one out of any of you who’s making any sense!”

**“Wren…”** Zaalbar’s eyes became downcast. **“I… I don’t know… Chuundar has been telling me things… he makes sense. I think. I don’t know.”**

“Z, he probably drugged you or something. Remember the part where he’s selling your people? Freyyr may be stuck in his old traditions but at least he hasn’t resorted to slavery, yeah?”

**“You… you are right. Then there is no other way. Chuundar! You have betrayed our people! Sold us to serve your own needs! You must pay!”**

**“That’s my boy!”** Freyyr cried out.

Chuundar snarled at his father. **“You are too weak to fight, old wook, and I still have Czerka support. We’ll see who dies today!”**

Chuundar, two Wookiee guards, and two Czerka guards turned on Wren and her party. Wren made a concerted effort to engage the guards—Czerka first. Zaalbar and Freyyr went straight for Chuundar.

Wren managed to get to one side of the room, where she had at least a semi-decent vantage point of the whole battle. Taking aim, she gunned down one of the Czerka guards (they weren’t even wearing armor, the morons) as Canderous took out the other. T3 and Jolee were bringing down one of the Wookiees, and Carth and Mission handled the last one.

The duel in the center of the room continued, but no one else made to participate. This was a family matter.

It only took a few extra moments before Chuundar was brought down. No one could say whether it was Freyyr or Zaalbar who had delivered the killing blow, but at long last, the elder brother lay dead.

Freyyr stared at his eldest son, in a daze. **“It… is over,”** he said at last. **“I am… saddened that it had to come to this, but I couldn’t let him continue.”** He turned to Zaalbar. **“Zaalbar, my son… I am truly sorry. You have suffered a great shame. I was blind. I have no excuse.”**

**“I can forgive, father. I have learned a lot over the years.”**

Wren allowed them another moment before stepping into the conversation. “What will you do about Czerka?”

**“We will fight them,”** said Freyyr. **“It will be difficult, but I swear they won’t take another one of my people without bloodshed. I’ll send quick-climbers to the other villages and try to rally a defense. We must guard against this ever happening again. You, Wren Grua, will be the last outsider welcome here for a long time. That will be a change for the better, I think.”**

Wren nodded. “And what about you, Zaalbar? I… I’ll understand if you want to stay.”

Zaalbar shook his head. **“Returning home has lifted a great weight from my mind, and I thank you for that. But it has been painful as well.”**

**“You have a place by my side, Zaalbar,”** urged Freyyr. **“I would be honored if you would take it.”**

**“I… I can’t. Not yet. I’m still getting used to being free, and not just from the slavers. And I have a life debt,”** he added, looking to Wren. **“Now that my life is truly my own again, honoring that agreement is all the more important.”**

**“Listen to my son!”** Freyyr declared proudly. **“His insight humbles me. Take that good judgment with you and all the planets will come to revere Wookiee wisdom.”**

“Well, if that’s settled, I think I should be going,” Wren said. “I have… unfinished business.”

Freyyr shook his head. **“Soon. But before you go, I must see to your reward. You have done us a great service. Kashyyyk will remember you long past your lifetime. Because of you, I am reinstated as chieftain. We will return to the old ways, where honor and trust of kin ruled above all else. I am not sure there is a reward that accurately reflects what you have done. Our world is changed because of you.”**

**“I have a request, father,”** put in Zaalbar. **“I have thought about it a great deal. I would like Bacca’s sword.”**

He looked to Wren. She smiled at him. “If you think that’s fitting, Z. I don’t need anything.”

Freyyr looked surprised. **“Well… that is quite a request. I am tempted to say no, but… perhaps I should consider it an investment. Very well. Let the two halves of the blade be made one. My son shall hold Bacca’s sword.”**

________________________

The ceremony of reinstating Freyyr as chieftain and presenting Zaalbar with Bacca’s sword lasted far too long for Wren’s taste. She spent most of it off to one side, accepting congratulations, smiling at the Wookiees who came to shake her hand. Of course, only a few of the highest-ranking members of the village were even there—the rest had spread out over the area, fighting Czerka wherever they could be found.

An hour or so into it, Carth approached her, silently leaning back against the wall where she had positioned herself.

After several moments of comfortable silence, he spoke. “So, where next? I doubt they’ll want us to stay much longer, what with trying to get rid of outsiders and all that.”

Wren sighed, eyes fixed despondently on the ground. “I have to go back, Carth.”

He jerked his head up to look at her incredulously. “You’re going _back?_ To Dantooine? After everything—”

“After everything I did to make sure I had nothing to do with them, I know.” Her voice was low—defeated, almost. “I can’t…. I can’t just ignore this, Carth. That terentatek targeted us because of _me._ Malak and the Sith might start targeting us because of me. Because I’m Force sensitive, whether I want it or not, and for some reason, it’s chosen now to make itself apparent. If I’m going to be putting you in danger… the least I can do is learn how to protect you from it.”

Carth took a deep breath in and exhaled heavily. “If that’s what you want.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about what I want anymore, Carth. It’s—it’s the ability to keep my friends, and—and even myself safe from something that’s pretty much inevitable.” Spotting the downcast look on Carth’s face, she tried to lighten the mood. “What? Worried I’ll turn into Bastila?”

Instead of the laughter she’d expected, Carth’s frown deepened. “A little,” he admitted. “Yeah.”

Wren’s smile faded. “Look. The Jedi aren’t going to change me. I won’t _let_ them change me. If Jolee Bindo can be a Jedi, then so can I. I don’t plan on becoming all… all emotionless like they want. I’ll still be _me,_ just… with Force powers. And maybe a lightsaber.”

Carth met her eyes. “You really believe that?”

Wren took his hand and squeezed. “I have to. Otherwise… I’d already be on the other side of the galaxy, and I’d end up getting you all killed. Just… promise me you’ll stick with me. I… I’ve been alone for a long time. Since my crew left, and… I don’t think I can pull this one off alone.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere, beautiful. I promise.”

They stayed there in silence for a few minutes before Wren nudged him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Something else, you mean?” he joked. “Go ahead.”

“Why is it you want revenge on Saul so badly?”

Carth’s facial expression bypassed serious and went straight to pained so quickly that Wren almost felt bad for asking. “I already told you,” he replied, avoiding her gaze. “He betrayed us all.”

“You did say there was more to the story,” she prompted gently.

At that, he looked over at her. “You remembered that?”

Wren gave a half smile. “I remember details, Carth. If I didn’t, I’d be a very bad smuggler.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. There is… more to it, I guess… I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”

She held his gaze. “I asked, didn’t I?”

He sighed. “It’s just… I don’t really talk about it much. Ever. Okay?”

She nodded. “I know. Just… whenever you’re ready.”

He took a moment before speaking again. “Thank you. I… appreciate it. I, uh… I told you about my homeworld. Telos. Four years ago, Saul led the Sith fleet there and demanded its surrender. The planet refused, and Saul proceeded to devastate its entire surface. Millions died.” He was looking at the ground again. He took a deep breath, released it. “I had a… a wife and a son on Telos,” he admitted. “I… thought they’d be safe there. But my… my task force arrived too late to be of much help.”

Wren let out a soft, _“Oh,”_ and gripped his hand tighter as he continued.

“We—we didn’t have enough medical supplies, the—the colony was… was burning, and the dying were everywhere. I remember… holding my wife and screaming for the medics, but they—they didn’t come in time…”

Wren leaned into his side a little more, trying to convey without words that she was there for him. He simply gripped her hand as tightly as he could, and if his hand was shaking a little, neither of them mentioned it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I—I shouldn’t have brought it up, I—I didn’t know…”

He shook his head. “Of course not. How could you have?” He took a deep breath. “I… I had nothing left after that, really. I devoted myself to the fleet. Hunting Saul was my only purpose. I… I miss them. And I know killing him won’t bring them back, and—and it won’t make me happy again, but I have to do it.”

“I know,” Wren said.

He shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I have to pay him back for what he’s done… I have to. It’s all I have left.”

Wren just stayed still for a moment, processing everything he’d said. “What was she like, your wife?” she asked suddenly.

Carth actually smiled. It was a sad smile, but genuine, and it calmed her a little. “Her name was Morgana. She… she had courage. And she was stubborn. A little bit like… like you in that respect. I could never talk her out of anything once she put her mind to it.” He nudged Wren a little. “Sound familiar?”

She met his eyes briefly, smiling back. “Now, where could you possibly have gotten that idea, Carth Onasi?” she joked.

Carth half-laughed before his focus drifted away from her again, back into his memories. “And she hated it when I signed back on at the start of the war. I had planned on… on leaving soon… to join her.” He bowed his head. Wren squeezed his hand again.

“So this is where all that… anger and suspicion comes from.”

He nodded. “Saul took… everything from me… my family, my home… even my trust. I hope you can understand that.”

“You know…” Wren shook her head. “Never mind.”

“What?” he asked. 

She shook her head again. “It’s… probably not a good time. So what happened to your son? You never said.”

Carth sighed deeply. “His name was Dustil, and I don’t know what happened to him. The colony was a complete ruin, and we never found any trace of him. I made inquiries and followed the reports from Telos for years, but… I stopped.” He sighed again before turning back to Wren. “Anyway, that’s the story. For what it’s worth.”

“Thank you,” was all she said.

He loosened his grip on her hand but kept his hold on it. “I’ve… never talked about it before. To anyone. I suppose it’s time I finally did. And you… well, you’re the only one I—” he broke off.

Wren smiled. “I know.”

As they headed for the spaceport after another hour of celebration (during which Zaalbar was presented with Bacca’s reforged sword), they had a few opportunities to take out any negative emotions they were having on some stray Czerka guards. Honestly, Wren thought they were lucky to have survived this long. Although, maybe the lucky ones were the ones who died before they knew what was happening.

The _Ebon Hawk_ was in sight when the truly troubling event occurred. The company found their path blocked by three figures, hooded and with their faces obscured.

Wren eyed them skeptically. “Something you want?”

The leader took a step forward, placing a hand at his hip, where Wren could now clearly see the hilt of a lightsaber. “Your head, on a Force pike,” he snarled. “Lord Malak was most displeased when he learned you had escaped Taris alive. He has promised a great reward to whoever destroys you.”

All three drew their lightsabers in one fluid motion, brandishing them deftly. In a heartbeat, Jolee was in front of Wren and his hand was extended—all three Dark Jedi flew backwards. Two crashed into the walkway, the third slid off and fell with a scream into the endless depths below.

Jolee charged forward to engage one of the Jedi, and Zaalbar, wielding Bacca’s sword, engaged the other. The rest of the party, Wren included, did their best to fire on them from a distance, but the elaborate swordplay at work made this far more difficult than Wren would have liked.

The worst part, however, came when Zaalbar had managed to get past his opponent’s defenses enough to deeply cut into his side. The Dark Jedi locked their weapons together, pushing against Zaalbar’s sword with all the might of one hand, while the other reached out towards the ranged combatants. With a wordless cry, Mission sank to her knees, and Wren was horrified to see the gash in the man’s side healing—not completely, but it certainly looked better than it had several moments ago.

Zaalbar’s brute strength was winning out against the one hand of the Dark Jedi, but Zaalbar’s adversary had accomplished what he wanted. Before he could make another move, however, while Zaalbar still had his weapon locked, Wren lined up her blaster and took the shot.

He fell with a hole burned through the fabric of his hood and straight into his head. Moments later, Jolee froze the last remaining Dark Jedi with a wave of his left hand, cutting him down with a flick of his wrist.

As was customary, Wren looted the bodies for anything of value, but her mind was far from the task. Her eyes stared without seeing as she experienced over and over the helplessness she’d felt as Mission fell to her knees, the very strength being drained from her body.

She couldn’t let that happen again. Not when she could prevent it.

They boarded the ship together—the six companions from Taris and the old man. Without a word, Wren and Carth headed for the cockpit, Canderous headed for the garage, and T3 and Zaalbar gathered in the main hold. Jolee quietly escorted Mission into the medbay to check up on her.

Wren slid into the co-pilot’s seat as Carth took the pilot’s. “Dantooine?” he inquired, looking sideways at Wren.

Wren took a deep breath. “Dantooine,” she confirmed on the exhale.


	9. ...Is Not So Easily Denied

Distraction was the name of the game for the next few days, mostly in the form of endless games of Pazaak with Mission, except when Wren decided to take a break and let T3 play. The droid wasn’t very good at first, but at the rate he was learning he’d be a master within a few months. In a few years, he’d probably be able to win so consistently that he’d be accused of cheating and banned from a Pazaak den or something.

There was only so much Pazaak she could play before even she got tired of it, though, and that was how she found herself leaning against the doorframe in the medbay, casually observing Jolee as he organized their medical supplies.

Probably sensing her presence or some other Jedi thing, he turned around to look at her. “Something on your mind, lass?”

Wren nodded. “Why’d you ask to come with us?”

Jolee straightened up, turning to face her properly. “You’ve got yourself a fast little ship. Heh, I’d forgotten what engines even sounded like. Closest thing to that on Kashyyyk is an uller in mating season. Ugh! Frightful.”

Wren laughed. “I assure you, I don’t want to know. So what, then, you just wanted a ride on my ship?”

Jolee shrugged. “Or it could be for the free food. What’s the gunk that comes out of the synthesizer on this bucket anyway? Do you never clean the darned thing?”

“I’d tell you to take it up with Davik, but he’s dead,” Wren replied. “But seriously. I did agree to bring you with me, you could at least tell me why.”

Jolee scoffed and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _‘kids these days.'_ Wren just fixed him with her best expectant stare. “I’m old, damn it!” he burst out after a few more moments. “I’m allowed to be enigmatic when I want to be, and don’t you go telling me otherwise!”

Wren shrugged. “Be as enigmatic as you want, I suppose. I could always leave you on Dantooine…”

Jolee glared at her. “You know, you remind me of someone I met ages ago. Pleasant enough fellow, great destiny, all of that. Breath like a bantha.”

“Did you annoy this person endlessly too?”

Jolee chuckled. “Oh, ho, ho, very funny. Is it my fault that young people are so easily annoyed? They’re like impatient little children. With blasters.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh, where was I. Oh, yes, Andor Vex was his name. The Force swirled around him like a hurricane, that’s how great his destiny was.”

Wren fixed him with an impatient look. “Please tell me you’re not about to start spouting off that I have some great destiny proclaimed by the Force or some other nerf-shit. _I_ decide my path.”

Far from being offended, Jolee chuckled again. “That I can see for myself, lass. But you already know you have Force potential, or you wouldn’t be going to Dantooine.”

“I wouldn’t be going to Dantooine _anyway,_ if I could help it,” she argued. “But apparently if I don’t become a Jedi I’ll get myself killed or something.”

“If it’s any consolation, I will tell you this: there’s a difference between training to be a Jedi and _becoming_ a Jedi. You can put on the uniform, use the lightsaber, learn the Force powers, but you’re still allowed to disagree with them. Might not be the best idea to do it to their faces, especially considering the unconventional nature of your situation, but… something to keep in mind.”

Wren took a deep breath and released it. “Thanks, Jolee.” She paused. “Tell me about your friend. Andor, right? I’ve never heard of him.”

Jolee shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t have. Sometimes swirling Force is just swirling Force. Gets us old Jedis all excited and we go, ‘ooo, destiny!’ Well it turned out that poor Andor believed a wee bit too much in the infallibility of that destiny. That overconfidence turned out to be his downfall.”

“Go on.”

“Let’s see, Andor’s downfall… I was pretty young, myself, when it happened. At the time I thought Andor’s destiny couldn’t be more boring.”

“Wait a second.” Wren couldn’t resist the gleeful grin spreading across her face. “You were _young?_ I can’t even imagine.”

“Oh, hush you!” Jolee waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m telling a story, damn it, so you just shush! Anyway, let’s just say that I was a strapping young lad with a full head of hair, and Coruscant was a small town with a well, heh heh. I was just about to abandon Andor to whatever the Force intended for him when his ship was overtaken by a Dimean warship. Now, you’ve probably never heard of the Dimeans, but at the time they were a nasty lot led by a nastier overlord named Kraat. Tall fellow. Big teeth. Kraat has us hauled onto the bridge of his ship for questioning, and that’s when I knew Andor’s destiny was at hand.”

Wren pushed off the wall and stepped into the medbay, sitting down on the cot. “Go on.”

“Well, Andor decides his destiny makes him invulnerable and starts making all sorts of demands. Free me now, I’m not answering questions, blah, blah, blah. Don’t you know who I am? Kraat decides he’s had enough and begins crushing Andor’s neck. I told the boy he should’ve kept his mouth shut. I think he agreed with me, too. Or… those might’ve just been gurgling noises… Well, anyway.  Finally, Kraat has enough of Andor and tosses him aside into this giant energy intake shaft. Andor gets sucked in and starts bouncing around, screaming…” Jolee was full-on reminiscing at this point, and he was _laughing._ Wren just stared at him incredulously as he continued. “Maybe Andor hit something sensitive on the way down, or just didn’t agree with the reactor core, but next thing I know all the ship’s alarms are ringing…”

Wren’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding…”

“Everyone panics and I run, barely making it to the ship in time before the explosion. Kraat dies horribly, and the Dimeans never quite recovered. Changed the political course of the entire sector for centuries to come. I’d call that quite a destiny, wouldn’t you?”

Wren couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “From a certain point of view, yeah, I guess so,” she said when she could breathe again. “Didn’t make much difference to him, though, did it?”

Jolee wagged a finger at her. “You should do so well as to get sucked into the engine of some evil Sith Lord, you know. Andor was a hero! Sort of…”

Wren crossed her right leg over her left knee. “You know you never actually did tell me why you wanted to come with.”

“No, I never did, did I?” Jolee winked.

Wren allowed herself a smile even as she gave him a look. “Are you always going to be this elusive?”

Jolee snorted. “Me, elusive? Obviously you’ve never tried to grab a Twi’lek dancer after having too much Onderon willek juice.”

She quirked a brow. “Can’t say I have.”

He waved a hand. “At any rate, I already told you why I wanted to leave. I’d seen everything I wanted to on Kashyyyk. Time to go, time to move on.”

“To where?”

“To bed! I’m old and tired, you know.”

Wren leaned back against the wall, folding her hands behind her head. “No, really.”

He rolled his eyes. “How many kilometer-high trees can you take an interest in before you decide enough’s enough?” He pointed a finger at her. “I bet you can’t even be bothered to stay in the same room for more than… fifteen minutes!”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“And then there’s all the critters in the Shadowlands… I’m just happy to be back in space, doing something new. Is that too much to ask?”

“You could do that on your own,” she pointed out.

“So I could. Not having a ship does tend to put a damper on that kind of idea, however.”

“Well, you’ve got me there. So we’re back to you wanting a ride on my ship, then.”

“Well, I’ll admit, for all its flaws, Kashyyyk was home enough. But when you came along and I saw the destiny you had before you, I couldn’t help but be intrigued.”

“And we’re back to the destiny talk. What is it with Jedi and predestination?”

Jolee was shaking his head. “There’s a difference between destiny and predestination, lass. It doesn’t mean what you’ll do is predetermined. All it means is that you have it in you to do something great. Whether it’s clogging up an engine intake like poor Andor or something greater… well, that’s up to you. I can see that you have a destiny before you. The details are far from clear. In fact, everything about you that I can see is odd. Slightly off, as if… as if my eyes are trying to trick me. Something… is very dark about you…”

Wren’s brows furrowed, and she leaned forward onto her knees. “Is it darkness, or the potential for it?”

“The potential for darkness lies in everyone, lass. But bah, it doesn’t matter. Even if you were completely enveloped in the dark side, your destiny would still be entirely your decision. Sure, it might make taking another path _difficult,_ but the options are always there. But bah! You probably don’t want to hear my ruminations. Soon enough you’ll have plenty of nosy Jedi offering you one opinion after another, enough to make you sick!”

Wren laughed, but it caught on the panic that was beginning to once again rise up in her throat. Noticing this, Jolee patted her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, lass. Your destiny will come in time. You remind me a bit of Nomi, heh, and that can’t be all bad.”

“Who’s Nomi?”

“Nomi Sunrider. She came late to the Force, as you have, and became one of the greatest Jedi ever. Oh, fine, fine lass. Whether you’ll follow her path remains to be seen. For one thing, we’ll never get anywhere if you stand around chatting up old men all day. Heh, this escapade might even remind me of my adventuring days if we didn’t stand around! What’s keeping you? You’re too young to be so talkative. Shoo! Shoo!”

Chuckling, Wren left the medbay. If nothing else, she decided, the old man knew how to tell a story.

______________________ 

A few hours out from Dantooine, Wren called a crew meeting. When they were all present, she took a deep breath and began. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out, we’re going back to Dantooine,” she said. “I intend to take up the Jedi on their… request… that I join them. That is, if the offer is still available.” She took another deep breath. “Now, I’m not trying to be paranoid, but I want to be prepared for anything. If the Jedi… I don’t know, take me into custody or something, or pose any sort of threat to you, I need you to promise me you’ll get out. Leave Dantooine. Leave me. Take the _Hawk_ and find somewhere safe. I’ll try and join you later if I can, but… well, once they have me, who’s to say I’ll ever be able to leave again.”

“Aren’t you being a little overdramatic, lass?” Jolee ventured cautiously.

Wren fixed him with a look. “I don’t know, am I? All I know is that my instincts are screaming at me not to trust the Jedi, that—that—I don’t know, they’ll do something terrible. I can’t even begin to count the number of times those instincts have saved my life, or been proven right somehow.”

“Then why are you going back at all?” Mission raised her hand as she asked the question.

Wren sighed. “Because I have to. Because my sensitivity to the Force, apparently, has made me a target for Malak and his followers. Because if I’m going to bring that kind of trouble down on your heads, I need to be able to protect you from it.”

No one had anything to say to that. Silence reigned for almost a full minute before Mission spoke again. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked in a small voice.

Wren shrugged. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure. So long as the Jedi don’t take too much offense at me walking out on them for a few weeks. I’m quite honestly surprised they didn’t send someone after me. But in answer to your question, yes, I’ll be fine. Other questions?”

“I follow your lead, boss,” Canderous said. “If that involves hanging out on a planet full of Jedi for however long it takes you to learn to be one… I’ll live.”

“I appreciate—” Wren broke off. “Did anyone else hear that?”

The footstep echoed again.

Immediately, Wren was all business. “Cargo hold. Cut off all possible access routes. Canderous, go around through the garage, Carth, around by the port dormitory. I’ll cut through the center, by the medbay. Z, come in behind me and make sure there’s no one in the engine room. Mission, follow Carth and check the dormitory, just in case they got through there.”

Weapons drawn, everyone followed her orders. Wren pressed forward, past the medbay and took a slight left toward the cargo hold, prepared to check in and around all the crates in there for whoever or whatever had infiltrated their ship.

She didn’t have to look very hard. As she entered the hold, she lowered her blaster in surprise, and she was still staring when the others filled in the doorway behind her.   
“Is that…?” Canderous asked.

“A kid?” Carth finished.

The little girl screamed, peering through her fingers at the four of them, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Na abds! Na abds!” she begged.

Wren stared for a couple more moments before actually replying. “Who are you, kid? Where’d you come from?”

“Na abds!” insisted the girl. “Me hoot bad liaz! Awnts!” She hugged herself and cowered against the wall, as though still trying to hide from the crew.

Wren took a step forward, extending her hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

“You…” the girl lowered her arms cautiously. “Yooba me na abds?”

“Um… whatever you say…”

The girl frowned, pushed off the wall, and turned her back on Wren, walking toward the crates on the other side of the cargo hold.

“Hey, come back!” Wren called.

The girl turned. “Yooba me kapsie?”

Wren pulled a face. This was going to be difficult. “What’s your name?”

The girl looked confused.

Wren rolled her eyes. “Name.” She pointed at herself. “Me. Wren. You…?” She pointed at the girl and trailed off, waiting.

She pointed at herself. “Wabba soosa Sasha!” she declared proudly.

“Sasha. Right. Okay, Sasha. Um…” She turned back to the door, where pretty much the entire crew was now gathered, looking confused. “Everyone except Canderous, go find something else to do. Canderous, stay here. Sounds like her little language here is a garbled version of _Mando’a.”_ She turned back to Sasha as the crew dispersed. “Say something else,” she instructed, gesturing to her mouth in a way that (hopefully) indicated speaking.

Over the next several minutes, between the two of them, Wren and Canderous managed to figure out the gist of Sasha’s little language enough to get a grasp of the situation. She’d been kidnapped by Mandalorians, escaped them, and hidden on the _Ebon Hawk._ The ship was her home and she didn’t want to leave. Wren made sure she knew they weren’t going to hurt her.

Carth’s voice echoed over the intercom. _“We’ll be coming out of hyperspace in the next few minutes. Wren, if you’re not too busy talking to children, get up to the cockpit."_ He sounded amused.

Wren sighed. “Canderous, can you handle her for a bit? See if you can get through to her. FInd out where she’s from or something.” He nodded, and she left the cargo hold at a brisk walk, entering the cockpit less than a minute later.

“How’s it going in there?” Carth asked as she took her seat.   
“Very slowly,” she gritted out. “I don’t have the patience for this kind of thing. _Children,”_ she added at his confused look. “ _Especially_ ones who don’t speak or understand Basic.”

“What about Mission?” Carth asked, half-joking. 

“Mission’s not a _child,_ she’s a teenager. They at least know how the galaxy works, mostly, and they can take my sass. Kids? Goes straight over their little heads and they’re left crying in a corner while I take the fall for their lack of understanding.”

Carth laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me at all?”

Wren snorted. “Cause you’ve _met_ me, Carth Onasi. And, you know, I might even go so far as to say you know me.”

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Carth warned. Wren adjusted the instruments on her side of the cockpit, preparing to decelerate. “Now.”

And there it was. That horrid, beautiful, green monstrosity of a planet. Dantooine.

“Well, there it is,” she sighed. “My destiny or my doom. Not sure which yet.”

Carth shrugged. “Could be both.”

“Not helping, Onasi,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, his tone reverted to actual sincerity. “And you know… you know we’re here for you, right? If you need us… if you need me… I’ll be here. I know how much it means for you to be doing this, and that you’re doing it for _us,_ well…” He sighed. “I don’t think I have the words for that. Just… be careful. Trust your instincts. And if you need to get out, come get me and I’ll take you anywhere you want. Deal?” He held out his hand across the central console.

Wren took it and squeezed. “Deal.” Her smile faded slowly. “Carth…” She met his eyes, trying to convey everything she couldn't say. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “But… now that we’re back here… don’t you have to report to the fleet?”

He gave her a smile. “Well, if there’s one good thing about you joining the Jedi, it’s that I might be able to pull out something official-sounding and get myself reassigned.”

She stared at him. “You… you’d do that? For me?”

His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Yeah,” he said. “I would.” He squeezed her hand one last time before letting go and returning to the task of piloting the ship to the surface. Within minutes, they’d landed back in the courtyard, and Wren was unbuckling herself from the co-pilot’s seat.

“Time to go get chewed out by the Jedi Council,” she sighed as she left the cockpit.

It appeared that would have to wait, however. As she stepped off the ship, a Twi’lek stepped forward. **“Pardon me, sentient, could I take a moment of your time for a question?”**

“If it’ll delay my meeting with the Council, anything.”

He looked confused for a moment but nodded nevertheless. **“I represent a settler here on Dantooine. His daughter was kidnapped by Mandalorians and he wishes her found. Might you have seen her?”**

Wren’s mouth slowly spread into a grin. “This kid… her name wouldn’t happen to be Sasha, would it?”

**“Yes, that is her name. Have you seen her?”**

Wren gestured over her shoulder. “She’s on my ship. Tell them you’re there for the girl. I should warn you, though, she doesn’t speak or understand much Basic—she communicates with a garbled version of Mandalorian. One of my crewmates and I have been figuring it out a bit, but I figure it’s something you should be aware of.”

**“I thank you human, and good luck.”**

The Twi’lek moved past her to the _Hawk’s_ loading ramp, and Wren sighed, turning back toward the Enclave entrance.

No more delays.

She steeled herself and marched through the front door, determinedly not looking at anyone as she moved through the central courtyard to access the Council chamber.

The door was closed, so she knocked after a moment’s hesitation. The conversation going on within ceased instantly.

A few moments of silence, then, “Enter,” said Master Zhar’s voice.

Wren opened the door and stepped inside.

It was almost as though they hadn’t moved since she left. The Council was assembled in their semicircle, with Bastila included on the far left of the group, discussing urgent matters or whatever it was the Council did in their spare time. As Wren entered, however, they turned as one to stare at her. The staring continued as she slowly walked into the chamber, blank shock registering on all the faces of the assembled Jedi.

“Well…” she ventured cautiously. “This isn’t quite what I was expecting.”

“You came back,” breathed Bastila, stunned.

“Why have you returned?” Vrook appeared to be quickly recovering from his surprise and took the opportunity to glare at Wren suspiciously.

“Two reasons. I went to Kashyyyk. I found… a Star Map of some kind, that looked exactly like the one I saw in my vision the night before I left. Revan and Malak, entering some ancient ruins, looking for something called a ‘Star Forge.’ And the map, on Kashyyyk… Revan had been there. Reprogrammed its guardian, so that it would only respond to someone with the right mindset. Ruthless, calculating. I gave it the answers it was looking for, and it gave me the Star Map.”

“What’s the other reason?” Bastila asked as the Council all exchanged looks.

“As we were leaving Kashyyyk, we were… confronted by three Dark Jedi. They, uh, _informed_ me that Malak knew we’d escaped Taris and that he wants me dead. And if I’m going to be bringing that kind of danger down on my friends, well… I need to be able to defend them from it.”

“A most noble aim,” Vandar assured her. “You were correct to return to us when you learned of Revan’s discovery.”

“We knew of your vision already,” Zhar explained. “Bastila told us how you and she shared the vision of Malak and Revan in the ruins here on Dantooine.”

“Those ruins are here?” Wren stopped for a moment, backtracking. “Wait a second. How did Bastila know we shared it? She didn’t speak to me after.”

“She said that she felt your presence within the dream,” Vandar explained. “A presence she has felt within you ever since—”

“Master Vandar!” Vrook warned.

Vandar gave him a serene look. “Ever since Taris,” he finished. Wren frowned, looking from one to the other, but said nothing.

“And yes,” Dorak added, “the ruins are here. They have long been known to us, but we believed them to be merely burial mounds. Perhaps they are more than we first suspected, if Revan and Malak found something there. Either way, this shared dream confirms one thing.”

“It is more than a dream,” said Vandar. “It is a vision. The Force is acting through you as it acts through Bastila.”

Wren sighed. “Then I truly have no choice, it seems. If Malak can track me down like that…”

“You and Bastila share a powerful connection to the Force,” Zhar confirmed. “And each other. This is not unheard of. Such bonds often form between master and apprentice, but rarely does a bond develop so quickly.”

“So, what, are you saying I’m… _joined_ … with Bastila?” _This is worse than I thought._  

“You and she are linked, as is your fate to hers.” Vandar nodded. “Together you may be able to stop Darth Malak and the Sith.”

“But do not let your head be filled with visions of glory and power!” Vrook interjected. “Such thoughts are the path to the dark side.”

“So are a lot of things, apparently,” Wren muttered.

Vrook ignored her. “The way of the light is long and difficult, as you must learn. Are you ready for such hardship?”

Wren let out a hysterical half-laugh. “No. But if I really have no other choice I’m willing to try my best. If only because you think I can’t,” she added under her breath.

“Understand that there is little choice in the matter, for you or us. Across the galaxy the numbers of our Order dwindle. We have sent many Jedi in a quest for a way to thwart Malak’s advance. Many have not returned.” Vandar bowed his head solemnly.

Trying to ignore the panic bubbling up in her stomach, Wren burst out, “So, what, you’ve sent many, and many have not returned. Do the manys have the same approximate value? Do you have a percentage estimate?”

Bastila gave her a look. “If you could refrain from making such childish remarks in the presence of the Council, that would be much appreciated.”

Wren shrugged. “They deal with five-year-olds. How bad can I possibly be?”

“You have no idea,” Bastila muttered.

“Padawan!” Zhar reprimanded.

“My apologies, Master Zhar,” said Bastila immediately. “It will not happen again.”

“The Sith hunt the Jedi down like animals,” Vandar continued. “We fear it is only a matter of time before they discover even this hidden refuge.”

Wren held up a hand. “Hold on a moment. If Revan and Malak were here, looking into those ruins, surely they already knew about this place? In that case, Malak’s just biding his time, waiting for the moment to strike. Which, if he knows we’re here…” She gestured at Bastila and herself. “But no, I forgot, he wants you alive,” she said to Bastila. “Then as long as she’s here, you’re probably fine. Probably. Still, if Jedi are falling to the dark side like you said…”

“The lure of the dark side is not easy to resist,” Vrook replied vaguely. “Malak’s power grows as more and more planets fall to his conquering armies.”

“If Malak is not stopped, the Republic will fall, and the Jedi will be hunted to extinction,” Zhar declared, perhaps a little overdramatically in Wren’s opinion. “The galaxy will enter a time of darkness and tyranny not seen for a thousand generations.”

“Once you are ready, you and Bastila will investigate the ruins seen in your vision,” said Vandar. 

“Perhaps there you will find some clue, some explanation of how Revan and Malak were corrupted. And perhaps there you shall find a way to stop them.” Dorak nodded sagely.

“I’ll tell you how to stop—wait a moment, them? Revan’s dead, right? Malak’s the only one left.”

“Revan may have been defeated, but their mission was one and the same,” Vandar explained. “While Malak survives, Revan’s mission is still being carried out.”

“Right…” Wren eyed him skeptically. “Whatever. I’ll tell you how to stop them. We have to find what it was they were looking for. In the vision, Malak mentioned something called the Star Forge. Revan, and presumably Malak, had been to Kashyyyk. They found something there, that map. Not all the data from it was complete, but what I did recover…” She pulled out her datapad, going over the data from the map. “My guess is that there are other maps, and combined, the data from those will lead us to this Star Forge thing. If that’s what allowed Revan and Malak to become so powerful…”

“Finding it will lead us to stopping them,” finished Bastila.

“You have learned much in your time away from us, young one,” Zhar observed. “But you are not yet ready to embark on such a quest. First you must learn the ways of the Jedi.”

“Doesn’t that take years?” Wren asked. “What, am I getting the crash course, or something?”

“The Force flows through you like no student we have ever seen,” Vrook observed. “But you are also willful and headstrong, a dangerous combination.” 

“You think you’re going to Jedi the stubbornness out of me?” Wren snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Before you embark on your mission, you must be trained in the ways of the Jedi,” insisted Vandar. “So that you can resist the darkness within yourself… within all of us. Otherwise you are doomed to fail.”

“We must begin your training at once,” Zhar said. “You have a destiny before you. The fate of the galaxy rests upon you.”

“I can only hope you prove up to the task.” _Sneering_ wasn’t a word Wren would have usually thought of to describe a Jedi master, but that was the only appropriate word for the look Vrook was giving her. Glancing briefly back over her shoulder at his narrowed eyes, his suspicious expression, she turned away to follow Zhar into the depths of the Enclave.

_So it begins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't been saying too much on these by nature of me updating it on my phone, but I'm on my computer at the moment so I just want to say thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying it, and I would love to hear from you! For the two of you I know for sure are reading, thank you, your support gives me life, and I hope I'm living up to expectations. Thank you all!


	10. Your Obedient Servant

_Each lightsaber is unique to the Jedi who creates it. The average lightsaber hilt—_

“Ugh!” Wren let her head drop to the desk, forehead impacting the book she’d been reading. “If they’re each unique, how can there be an average?”

Bastila stepped up behind her. _Again._ This had become an all too common occurrence in the last several weeks. “Is there a problem?”

_“Yes,”_ Wren gritted out, frustration seeping through. “It feels like… I don’t know, like there’s some part of me that knows all this already, like I was a Jedi in a past life or something, but I also _don’t_ know it at all!”

“Then you must have the patience to learn,” Bastila patronized, managing to (mostly) hide her moment of panic. Wren didn't care enough to ask.

“Well there’s your problem.” Wren rolled her eyes. “I don’t _have_ any patience. And it’s not like I’ve got nothing better to do than sitting around here reading for weeks on end.”

“You’ve not only been reading,” Bastila pointed out. 

“Yeah, the only interesting thing I’ve been doing is combat training,” Wren groused. “Other than that, meditation and study, all day long, except for my breaks, during which I go out to the planet and inevitably some settler asks me for a favor that I won’t have time to complete. Oh, and apparently I’m being watched at all times? And I haven’t seen any of my friends, pretty much since I started this blasted training!”

“Calm down, Wren,” Bastila soothed. “You’ve shown great improvement over the past weeks. Soon, I believe you will be ready to face the final tests and progress to the rank of Padawan.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Wren stated bluntly. “Why are they trying to keep me away from my crew?”

Bastila shifted her weight uncomfortably. 

“You’re hiding something,” Wren accused.

“The Council believes that… some of the members of your crew may have a… negative impact on your training, if you are allowed into contact with them.”

“Like who?” Wren fixed Bastila with her best irritated glare.

The Jedi took half a step backward, unconsciously, but didn’t back down. “The Mandalorian, for one. He may have been a great help in returning that young girl to her family, but he has shown violent tendencies unbecoming of one associated with the Jedi.”

“Go on,” Wren prompted in a low and dangerous voice.

“The—the Wookiee and the Twi’lek are known troublemakers, I can’t tell you the amount of innocent settlers she’s conned out of their credits in the cantina, the former Jedi you encountered on Kashyyyk is a dangerous influence, and frankly, your relationship with Carth is to be discouraged!”

“Carth and I aren’t in a relationship,” Wren snapped a little too quickly. “And as for the others, if you feel like dictating who my friends are, why not let them _leave_ the planet?”

Bastila looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable. “We… we are not keeping them here,” she said. “They remain by their own choice.”

Wren let out a breath, then looked sideways at Bastila. “All of them?”

“Every single one,” she confirmed.

Wren’s eyes drifted back to the book she’d been studying, staring without seeing. _They all stayed._ Even when she told them to leave her behind if they had to.

“Anyway,” Bastila cut into her thoughts. “I came here to tell you that Master Zhar wishes to meet with you. He believes you are ready for the first of your final tests.”

Wren shoved her chair back so fast it tipped over and hit the floor. “Why didn’t you say so?” she demanded. “Let’s go!”

Bastila led her (at an infuriatingly slow walk) out of the sublevel and back into the main body of the Enclave. Passing through the courtyard, however, they encountered yet another distraction.

“Grua!”

Wren’s head snapped to the left, eyes fixing immediately on Canderous as he came walking toward her. Bastila scowled. 

“Where the hell have you been?” demanded the Mandalorian.

“Downstairs,” Wren sighed despondently. “Studying.”

“It’s been _weeks,”_ Canderous protested. “They keeping you down there?” She couldn’t help but notice the hand resting on his blaster rifle.

“Approximately.” She shrugged. “It’s fine. Apparently I’m almost ready to finish up the apprentice training, and I would guess when I hit Padawan we’ll be ready to go.” She paused. “Why’ve you stuck around?”

He shrugged. “When you’re done with this, you’re going to fight the Sith. Sounds more interesting than working as a merc, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway, the reason I came in here at all was to get the message to you that I dealt with those Mandalorians bothering the settlers. _Hut’uune,”_ he snarled. “Beating up on pathetic civilians. There’s no honor in that.”

Wren breathed a sigh of relief. _“Thank_ you. That’s the one I was most worried about.” She grasped his elbow in a Mandalorian-style handshake. “What have the others been up to?”

“Well, the kid’s been cleaning out all the locals of their credits. You’d think they’d learn not to play Pazaak with her. Onasi and the droid have been running around helping anyone they can find, and the old man is just doing his best to avoid the Jedi at all costs.”

“What have Carth and T3 done?”

Canderous started chuckling. “There was some crazy lady,” he said, “Onasi offered to help her find her lost ‘companion.’” The laugh turned into a full-on guffaw. “The lady was in love with her droid! Onasi ended up destroying it, came back and told her it was killed by kath hounds.”

Wren burst out laughing. “Is that as hilariously disturbing as I think it is?”

“Probably more,” Canderous said. “I didn’t ask for the details, and I don’t think he did either.”

“I don’t blame you,” laughed Wren.

Bastila cleared her throat loudly.

Wren’s smile faded. “Right. Well, I need to meet with the Council. Hopefully, I’ll… see you soon.”

“Stay in one piece, Grua,” Canderous returned.

Zhar was waiting in the training room adjacent to the Council chamber. “Ah, apprentice,” he greeted.

“I have a name, you know,” Wren observed for the hundredth time. 

“Apprentice Grua,” he amended.

“Bastila said you thought I was ready for the first of my final tests.”

Zhar nodded. “Though you may be a mere apprentice, your potential is unlimited and your progress amazing. In all my years, I have never witnessed another who mastered the initial training so quickly. You have done in weeks what many cannot do in years.”  

“While I appreciate the flattery, is this going somewhere?”

Zhar frowned. “It is not flattery, apprentice, it is fact. Beware your pride, for it could—”

“Lead to the dark side, I know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He scrutinized her for a few more seconds before nodding, seemingly satisfied. “Soon your apprenticeship will end, and you will be granted the title of Padawan, the lowest rank of those among the Jedi Order. Yet first you must prove yourself worthy.”

Wren decided not to mention that she’d already been informed of this at least a dozen times. “What must I do to prove worthy?”

“In the ancient traditions and customs of our order, as passed down from master to pupil for a thousand generations, you must successfully complete three tests to earn your place among the Jedi.”

“What are these tests? What must I do to accomplish them?”

“The first can be accomplished here and now. You must prove you have a Jedi’s understanding of our Code.”

Wren nodded. “Shall I… recite it?”

“If you please, Apprentice Grua.”

She nodded again. “There is no emotion, there is peace.” As she said the words, she closed her eyes, trying to center herself and feel the Force flow through her, as she had been taught. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.” With another deep breath, she felt all but the last dregs of her fear slip through her grasp and out of sight. “There is no passion, there is serenity.” As she spoke, she could feel the tension leaving her body, her muscles relaxing. “There is no chaos, there is harmony.” Her path had brought her here, no matter how she tried to run from her destiny. “There is no death, there is the Force.” She stopped, opening her eyes to look at Zhar.

“Very good, Apprentice Grua. You have learned your studies well. Soon you will be a full member of the Jedi Order. But first, you must pass the second trial.”

“Already?” Wren was surprised. “Bastila only said I was ready for the first.”

“The second trial may take hours or days, depending on the Jedi,” Zhar cautioned. “You will continue to learn about the essence of each Jedi, the very symbol of our order—the lightsaber. The lightsaber is the traditional weapon of our order. It is the symbol of a Jedi’s—”

“Skill, dedication, and authority,” Wren finished. He gave her a look. “What? I read the books too.”

“Patience is an important skill to cultivate, young apprentice.”

She sighed. “Of course, Master Zhar.”

“Each lightsaber is as individual as the Jedi who wields it.”

“I have a question about that,” Wren spoke up. “The book I was reading earlier said that, except then it said something about ‘the average lightsaber.’ If each is unique, how can there be an average?”

Zhar nodded. “While each lightsaber is unique in several ways, most are similar in the shape of their hilts—cylindrical—and their blade lengths and thicknesses. There have been known to be variations among certain Jedi, however.” He gave Wren a wry smile. “Since you are so knowledgeable, can you, perhaps, tell me the composition of a lightsaber?”

Wren wracked her brain, trying to remember the wording. “The… the blade is made from pure energy, focused by… Force-sensitive crystals, I think? Or at least, the crystals come from Force-sensitive caves.”

“That is correct, Apprentice Grua. Well done. Speak with Master Dorak and he will guide you through the choosing of a crystal.”

Wren nodded. “Where is he?”

“I believe he is in the central courtyard.”

Wren gave a half bow, turned, and walked back out of the training room and into the courtyard. Dorak, as predicted, was sitting on a bench by the tree. His eyes opened at Wren’s approach.

“Ah.” His face broke into a smile. “You have come, young—” He cut himself off for a moment before correcting himself. “Apprentice Grua, at Master Zhar’s bidding. He sees much potential in you, as do I.”

“I appreciate it. Master Zhar said you could guide me in the choosing of a lightsaber crystal.”

Dorak nodded. “The time has come for you to choose the color of your lightsaber. This color also reflects your demeanor, and position within the Order.”

Wren nodded. “I remember. Blue for the Guardian, yellow for the Sentinel, green for the Consular. Am I right?”

“Correct. You have studied well.  Am I correct in thinking that you also remember the role of each?”

“The Guardian is more combat-focused, working more with lightsaber techniques than Force powers and doing battle against the forces of evil, or something like that. The Sentinel… ‘ferrets out deceit,’ I believe is how the book put it. They’re often more stealth operatives, or undercover agents, or the like. They’re also more flexible in their capabilities, sort of jack-of-all-trades in the Jedi world. And Consulars are the peaceful ones, trying to mediate, solve disputes, bring balance to the universe and all that thrilling stuff.”

“I take it you have a position in mind for yourself?”

“I do. I want to be a Guardian.”

Dorak smiled. “We shall see about that, Apprentice Grua. We shall see. I am going to ask you a series of questions. Answer as honestly as you can, and we shall see which path you are most suited to.”

“Fire away.”

“A woman and her small child are beset by a group of thugs. They are menacing her with weapons and she screams to you for help. What do you do?”

“Get the thugs’ attention and then attack them, simultaneously dealing with the problem and enabling her to get away,” Wren answered promptly.

Dorak chuckled. “I see. I suspected as much. Next question. You are in combat with a Dark Jedi allied with the Sith. There is a pause in the combat. What do you do?”

She shrugged. “See if I can get past their defenses. Attack again and see if I can use the pause to my advantage and take them out.”

Dorak nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. Next question. There is a locked door and your goal lies on the other side. What do you do?”

Wren thought for a moment. “Probably pick the lock. In those cases I’d rather not leave evidence of my presence.”

“Interesting choice. I suspect your background as a smuggler has something to do with that. Now for the final question. You are the head of an enclave on a contested world. The Dark Jedi have infiltrated and are causing unrest across the planet. What do you do?”

“Hunt them down,” Wren replied without even pausing to think.

Dorak smiled. “I thought as much. As I’m sure you expected, I believe you would be most suited to being a Jedi Guardian.”

Wren smirked. “Thought so.”

“Here is a blue crystal for your lightsaber.” Dorak handed her the crystal, patting her on the shoulder. “Speak with Master Zhar and he will guide you through the steps of your lightsaber’s construction.”

Wren hurried back into the training room, holding up the crystal for Zhar to see.

He smiled. “As I suspected. Good. Now that you have selected your crystal, you may begin construction of your lightsaber. Return to your room in the sublevel. There you will meditate on your crystal, infusing it with the power of the Force, as you have learned. When you have completed the construction of your lightsaber, come find me. Good luck, Apprentice Grua.”

Bastila escorted her back to her room (“What, can’t I go anywhere without an escort?” Wren muttered irritably) and left her in peace. After sitting still for several moments, staring blankly at a wall, Wren reached over to her bedside table, pulling out a drawer and withdrawing the lightsaber hilt that she’d built as part of her studies. All that remained was the addition of the crystal, and if her research was anything to go by, that could take a while.

Might as well get started.

____________________ 

She felt it the moment the crystal was set in her lightsaber. She gave it a few seconds to settle, then released it with the Force and flopped back onto her bed as the lightsaber fell into her lap.

_She’d done it._ She laughed with relief, embracing the feeling of freedom (well, relative freedom), of not having to meditate for any more five or six-hour stretches.

Still slightly drunk on her accomplishment, she seized the lightsaber and ran out of the sublevel into the open air. She didn’t notice the person on an intercept trajectory until it was too late.

“Sorry!” she burst out as she recovered her footing after the collision.

“Wren?”

Wren blinked. Then her entire face lit up. “Carth?” She ran at him again, this time flinging her arms around his neck as they collided. _“Force_ , I missed you,” she breathed.

His arms encircled her readily, even lifting her off the ground a bit. “You too,” he said. “Where’ve you been? It’s been weeks.”

Pulling away, Wren pointed irritably at the sublevel. “In there. Studying. Meditating. Training. _Ugh.”_ She pulled a face. “What about you?”

He shrugged. “Wandering around, trying to help the settlers I guess. And man, for a group of rural settlers on a planet full of Jedi, they sure have a lot of problems. Between the Mandalorians, the kath hounds, and that lady’s droid…”

Wren burst out laughing. “Canderous told me about that. What happened to her?”

“She ran off to the Enclave in hysterics.” Carth snorted. “Ran into her a few days later with some guy she met; she was completely over the droid.”

“Good thing, too, or I’d recommend assigning a Jedi to be her therapist.”

They laughed together for a few moments before Carth asked, “So, dare I ask why you were running?”

“Finished this.” Wren held out her completed lightsaber.

Carth’s mouth dropped open. “So I guess it’s… official, then.” He seemed at a loss for words.

Wren snorted. “Not quite. They’ve got their traditions and such, and there are three tests before I can become a Padawan. This is only the second.”

He nodded slowly. “And… you’re okay?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “As okay as can be expected, after spending weeks mostly locked up in there with only _Jedi_ for company. I’m trying not to think about it too much.” She sighed. “Anyway. I’d better get this to Master Zhar. See if I can’t get that third test over with and get the hell out of here.”

“Right… Good luck, Wren.”

As she walked away it occurred to her that Carth hadn’t seemed quite… himself. She probably should have asked about that, but… he was fine, right? He knew she was busy, that she needed to finish these trials as soon as possible to get away from the Jedi. He’d be fine. Once she could get out of here, then they could talk more.

In the Enclave, Zhar was waiting in the training room. She walked straight up to him and handed him the lightsaber hilt. He took it, switched it on, and swung it a few times experimentally before switching it off again and examining it closely. He looked surprised.

“You have done extremely well in constructing your lightsaber, Apprentice Grua. The crystal seems to have been set perfectly. It is rare indeed for that to happen the first time one constructs their lightsaber.”

“Well thank you,” said Wren, slightly taken aback.

Zhar nodded before continuing. “Your lightsaber identifies you as a member of the Jedi Order. With that recognition comes honor and respect… and the attention of dangerous enemies.”

She shrugged. “I was already getting that anyway. How bad can it possibly be?”

Zhar smiled ruefully. “You do not wish to know the answer to that question, Apprentice Grua.”

“All right then. So what’s the third task?”

“You must prove yourself worthy in battle against a foe who also wields a lightsaber.”

She raised her hand. “Does it count if I’ve already done that, but before I was a Jedi?”

“I believe you’re referring to the incident on Kashyyyk in which you and your companions were attacked by three Dark Jedi in the name of Malak.”

“Correct.”

“If you are to defeat Malak, Apprentice Grua, you must be prepared to face him alone. Such is the nature of the task set before you. The test still stands. For every Jedi the threat of the dark side is always present. You must truly understand this before you are accepted into the Order. You must see the corruption of the dark side for yourself. Even here on Dantooine, there are places where the dark side holds sway, twisting and tainting nature itself. The ancient grove once used for deep meditation by the Jedi is now tainted.”

“Is that what’s making the kath hounds in the area so vicious?”

“Indeed, you are correct, apprentice.”

“So… I take it you want me to deal with this… taint?”

Zhar nodded. “You must journey into the grove and confront the true source of the darkness. That is your task.”

Wren nodded once, sharply. “All right. I take it I should do this alone?”

“Your companions are welcome to assist you, though no other Jedi is permitted to aid you.”

“I take it that includes Jolee?”

“You are correct, Apprentice Grua. Return here when you have confronted the threat within the grove.”

After exiting the training room purposefully, Wren slowed to a casual meander. She wanted to keep an eye out for anyone who could help her with the taint, after all. Fortunately for her, the Force appeared to be in her favor.

_“Wren!”_ came the joyous cry the moment she’d exited the Enclave. She was given a few moments to prepare herself before being slammed backwards by the force of a charging Twi’lek. Canderous stood back, laughing openly at the spectacle as Mission threw her arms around Wren’s neck. “Where have you _been?_ Are you okay? What have you been doing all this time? Are you a Jedi yet? Are they treating you okay? Why haven’t they let us see you?”

Wren just started laughing. “You’re gonna have to start over with those questions, Mish, I don’t remember a single one of them.”

Mission took several deep breaths, pulling away from the hug to get a look at Wren. After several moments, she settled on a simple, “How are you?”

Wren shrugged. “I’m all right. Almost done with this training business. But I could use your help, the two of you,” she added.

“Awesome!” Mission sounded thrilled. “I love helping! What is it?”

“There’s a grove south of here, where the Jedi used to meditate. Apparently it’s tainted by the dark side, and I need to cleanse it.”

Mission frowned. “How’s that gonna work?”

“Well my guess is that there’s a person doing the tainting,” said Wren. “Deal with them, and we deal with the taint. Hopefully that’ll help pacify the kath hounds a bit too.”

“All right!” Mission cried, enthused once again. “Let’s go!”

The kath hounds were as much of a problem as the Jedi had said they were—extra vicious, attacking without provocation, charging at them if they even entered the hounds’ line of sight. Wren suspected that it had less to do with malice on their part and more to do with her working theory that the dark side influence had increased their territoriality.

Either way, they weren’t the only ones to be confronted with the kath hounds’ newfound viciousness. Not far to the southeast of the Enclave, they stumbled across two corpses, mauled almost beyond recognition. Wren took a moment of silence out of respect for how awful it must have been to die that way before she looted their pockets, finding credits, as usual, but also a datapad. She switched it on—still completely functional.

“It says this one—” Wren nudged the corpse she’d taken the diary from with her toe, “—is named Casus Sandral.”

Canderous groaned. “Not them.”

“What?”

“These two families have been fighting,” Mission explained. “Apparently they’ve been at it pretty much since they got here. No one can figure out why, it’s just… always been that way. Maybe some kind of land dispute. But anyway, it’s the Sandrals and the Matales, and Mr. Matale is staying up at the Enclave to complain to the Jedi that Mr. Sandral kidnapped his son. I doubt this will help matters any,” she added, gesturing to Casus’ corpse.

Wren sighed. “We can deal with it later. Let’s find that grove.”


	11. Opinions of Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. That is all.

They continued south, fighting more kath hounds as they attacked. Wren sustained a few scratches on her arms, and so did Mission, but it wasn’t anything too serious, so they pressed on.

“There!” Mission called out suddenly, pointing southeast. “Is that it?”

Wren squinted at it. “I guess so,” she said after a moment. “I don’t see any other structures around here, and it looks exactly like something the Jedi would use for meditation—symmetrical and very uncomfortable.”

They approached the stone pillars cautiously, Wren in the lead. Sure enough, as they drew near, she managed to spot a figure—clad in bright orange, of all colors—kneeling among the pillars. A few more steps and Wren could identify the unknown person—a Cathar woman, kneeling but clearly alert, one hand on her lightsaber.

One more step forward and she sprang into action, throwing out a hand as Wren and the others approached. Mission was frozen in place, quickly followed by Canderous. The woman threw out her hand to freeze Wren as well, but Wren countered the move, calling upon her recent training to resist the attempted stasis.

“Planning on killing them?” she asked in her most dangerous voice. “You’ll have to go through me.”

With an enraged cry, the Cathar leapt forward, swinging her lightsaber at Wren aggressively. Stepping to one side, Wren drew her own lightsaber just in time to block the woman’s follow-up strike.

“Not bad,” she said. “You’ll have to do better.”

The woman growled, leaping forward again and swinging her lightsaber wide. Wren blocked her easily, sidestepping and twirling her lightsaber a little, just to show off.

“Honestly,” Wren said, “it’s like you’re all rage and no finesse. That won’t get you anywhere in life. And neither will going all dark side on a planet full of Jedi. I mean, really, did you actually think that was a good idea?”

The Cathar snarled furiously, responding to Wren’s taunts just as she had hoped. Her form—which had lacked finesse to begin with—was getting sloppier and sloppier. It wouldn’t be long before Wren would be able to get past her defenses.

Unfortunately, while her combat style lacked finesse, she didn’t appear to have lost her mental faculties. Combat paused for a moment, and yellow eyes flicked across the battlefield from one occupant to the next, to the next.

“I will be your doom!” she cried, but instead of attacking Wren she leaped towards Mission.

Wren’s careless facade shattered. _“NO!”_ she screamed, leaping after her just in time to block the strike, pushing the woman backward so hard that she fell. Not giving her a moment to recover, Wren took a final step forward and stabbed her lightsaber directly through the woman’s heart. Standing over her, she watched, victorious, as the life faded from her eyes.

Mission and Canderous stirred behind her. “Wren!” Mission objected. “She was scared!”

Wren, still not entirely free of the fury that had gripped her, glared at the Twi’lek. “She _attacked you,_ Mission. What was I supposed to do, hm? Let you die?”

“She wasn’t going to hurt me!” Mission insisted. “If she wanted to, she could’ve killed me before you got there!”

Starting to feel the burning of guilt in her stomach, Wren shook her head. “Whatever. It’s done. Let’s just… get back to the Council. If they’ll even take me after I apparently failed their little ‘test.’” She started to walk away. “No. No I didn’t. They told me to cleanse the taint. I cleansed it, all right? If they told me not to kill her, I wouldn’t have killed her, but no, the Jedi know better, the Jedi get to speak in riddles, the Jedi get to be _vague_ and expect everyone to know what the _fuck_ they’re talking about, well, no. I don’t take hints, and that woman threatened my friend. I don’t care what they say, whether they accept me or not. I have the training I need to stop whoever comes after me, and I know what I need to do to try and stop Malak. I don’t need them.”

Somewhere mid-rant, she’d stopped walking, and Canderous stepped up beside her. “You done?”

She just glared at him.

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Grua. I’d have done the same. Just tell the Jedi she didn’t give you the chance, and it was you or her.”

Wren took a deep breath. “Her or Mission more like, but yeah. Okay. Thanks, Canderous.”

He grinned. “Always happy to outwit the Jedi.”

Wren led the way back to the Enclave, plagued by doubt.

_Should I have tried harder to save the woman?_

_No, I was protecting my friend._

_I could have knocked her out or something._

_No!_

_Mission was safe after I pushed her back. I didn’t have to kill her._

_She would have killed us!_

_Would she, though?_

Wren hadn’t used the Force to feel the woman’s mind or presence. She’d always thought that kind of thing was an invasion of privacy. If she didn’t want others using it on her, why should she feel the need to use it on others?

Now, though, she was beginning to regret it. Maybe, if she’d just had some proof of that woman’s malicious intent… if she’d had any…

_“You!”_ A voice, choked with emotion, carried across the plains. After a moment, Wren spotted Belaya, the woman who’d been rude to her the first time she entered the Enclave, running toward them. “How _could_ you? Juhani was… Juhani was one of the _best_ of us!”

“Clearly not, if she let the dark side consume her so easily,” Wren shot back defensively.

_“Curse_ them!” Belaya cried out, stopping mere feet from Wren. _“Curse_ the Council for sending _you,_ of all people, to speak to her! Could you have done nothing else?”

Wren got in her face. “She almost _killed_ my friend,” she snapped. “If you were so close, why couldn’t _you_ have gone, hm? Maybe she would have _talked_ to you first, instead of trying to _kill_ you!”

“The Juhani I knew deserved more than this! More from the Council, and more from you! I should kill you where you stand! And yet, I can’t, can I? I am a Jedi, sworn to protect all… even the likes of you. Get out of my sight! The very thought of the Council, the very thought of _you,_ makes me _ill!”_ And off she ran, into the open plains.

Wren stood stock-still, rooted to the ground, guilt eating away at her insides like acid. She _should_ have tried harder. She _should_ have tried talking. She could blame the Council all she wanted for not telling her (and she would no doubt continue to do so) but she was as much to blame as they were. Her impatience, her tendency to lash out, her pride… and now someone was dead. She might as well have murdered her in her sleep.

No one spoke as Wren slowly managed to drag her feet off the ground, forcing her body to carry her back to the Enclave. She would have to face this sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

She left Canderous and Mission in the central part of the Enclave and headed into the Council chamber alone. As she’d expected, the Council was assembled there, looking very grave.

Vandar spoke first. “It is most regrettable that Juhani could not be saved. We in the Council had high hopes for her in the future.” He looked up at Wren. “In every heart there is some means of redemption. Could you find none in Juhani?”

Wren bowed her head. “She attacked me without speaking. I… was perhaps a bit too focused on my survival and that of my companions.”

“Perhaps that was the case,” Vandar admitted. “It is most regrettable indeed.”

“Perhaps if I’d known to _look_ for redemption, I wouldn’t have bested her so quickly,” Wren couldn’t resist adding, looking up at them.

Vrook scowled. “You must make these decisions for yourself. The Council will not always be there to hold your hand.”

Wren looked back at the ground. “I… understand. I will… do better.”

“Learn from Juhani’s example,” Vandar cautioned. “All are susceptible to the dark side. We must always remain vigilant against it.”

“Do not dismiss what happened to her,” Zhar agreed. “Juhani was both dedicated and true to the ideals of the order, yet she was still vulnerable to the dark side… as are we all. The ancient grove has been cleansed, and you have passed your final test. Congratulations, apprentice. Or should I say, congratulations, Padawan? You have proven yourself worthy of joining the Jedi.”

“Still have a name,” Wren reminded him.

Zhar smiled indulgently. “Of course, Padawan Grua.”

Vandar spoke again. “Your training is now complete, Padawan Grua. And perhaps now it is time we dealt with the matter of the dream you and Bastila shared.”

“I recognized the ruins in your dream as one of a series of structures here on Dantooine,” Dorak reminded them. “The one you saw lies east of the Enclave.”

“We sent a Jedi to investigate, but he has not returned. Perhaps sending him in the first place was a mistake.” Vandar bowed his head solemnly for a moment before continuing. “The Force is guiding you through your visions. It may be that exploring the ruins is a task tied to your destiny.”

Wren raised one eyebrow, skeptical. “If you say so. I… take it I’m being encouraged to bring Bastila?”

Vandar nodded. “There is a powerful link between you, and you will need to draw strength from each other for the trials ahead.”

“Proceed with caution, Padawan,” Vrook warned. “There’s no telling what—”

The door to the Council chamber sprang open. “I demand justice!” cried the man in the doorway. “The Sandral family is a blight upon Dantooine!”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Ohhhh boy.”

Vandar sighed. “The Council will look into this matter, Mr. Matale,” he said with an air of one who was explaining something to a child for the hundredth time. “You must be patient. Your accusations have no proof, and we do not want to stir up trouble with the Sandrals if there is some mistake.”

“Mistake?!” Matale was outraged. “My son Shen is missing! How can there be any doubt the Sandrals are to blame?”

“There are other possible explanations for your son’s disappearance.” Vrook was being deliberately elusive. Wren, in this case, didn’t blame Matale for his response.

Matale sneered. “Bah! You Jedi are good for nothing but talk. I shall only wait so long before I take action on my own!” He spun on his heel and stalked out of the chamber.

“Ohhhh boy,” Wren said again. She turned back to Vandar. “I can look into that; I have a bit of evidence that may contribute something to the investigation.”

“What have you found?” Vrook asked.

“Casus Sandral’s body. He’d been mauled to death by kath hounds. If these families have been fighting for as long as I’ve been led to believe…”

“Sandral may have blamed Matale for his son’s disappearance,” Dorak filled in.

Vandar nodded. “Speak with Mr. Sandral. See if you cannot find a peaceful solution to this dispute.”

Wren nodded. “I’ll be back once I’ve visited the ruins, then.”

“Good luck,” Zhar said. “You are dismissed, Padawan Grua.”

Wren inclined her head to each of the Masters before turning to go. Out in the courtyard, Bastila was waiting, arms crossed and glaring determinedly in the opposite direction of Canderous, who was leaning casually against the Enclave wall.

“Kid went back to the _Hawk,”_ the Mandalorian explained. “You see Matale?”

Wren nodded. “Two things on the to-do list: deal with _them,_ and investigate the ruins where Malak and Revan found the Star Map. Since you’re here, you might as well come with.”

Canderous fell into step beside her, Bastila trailing behind. “What did you tell them?” he asked.

Wren’s insides felt like they were shrinking. She’d been hoping to avoid this conversation topic. “The truth,” she said at last, fully aware that Bastila was listening in on every word. “She attacked me without speaking, and I did what I had to.”

Canderous nodded appreciatively. “Good.”

Grasping for a change in subject, Wren asked, “So, you have any good war stories?”

“You want to hear tales of my exploits? Of the wars I’ve seen and fought, the enemies I’ve watched die by my hand? Heh, sure, I’ll humor you. I’ve been fighting across the galaxy for 40 of your years. For my people it’s the honor and glory of battle that rules us. It’s through combat that we prove our worth, win renown, and make our fortunes. Win or lose, as long as the fight is worthy, honor is gained. The glory at having triumphed over impossible odds is what drives us. If there’s nothing at stake—your possessions, your life, your world—then the battle is meaningless.”

Wren frowned thoughtfully. “I can understand that,” she said after a moment. “That why you stuck with me instead of Davik?”

“Heh. Davik’s enemies were pathetic. Your journey promises glory unlike any I’ve ever seen. If you truly mean to defeat Darth Malak himself, I’m with you till the end.”

“What happened to the Mandalorians after the wars?”

Canderous shrugged. “Scattered across the galaxy. Most are either working as mercenaries or killing for sport, like the scum I fought here and on Kashyyyk. The clans as they were aren’t a threat, but the galaxy still fears us. Ha! People think we war out of spite, or bloodlust. They don’t understand, and fear that. We only wanted the challenge of battle and the glory from it, win or lose. And we lost, thanks to Revan.”

Wren eyed him. “You respect Revan, don’t you?”

Canderous nodded without hesitation. “Without Revan, we would have crushed the Republic, no contest. When the Jedi joined the fight, the tide turned. Revan was a genius on the field, and the Jedi’s intervention gave the Republic the morale and leadership they needed to defeat us. But fighting against Revan was the greatest honor any of us could have hoped for.” Canderous glanced away from Wren to look ahead. “And if I’m right, those are the ruins you’re looking for.”

Wren stepped toward the pillars he had indicated, examining them. They framed a door, a door exactly identical to the one she’d seen Revan open in her vision. “This is it.” She stepped forward, as Revan had done, and passed her hand over the stone.

The door opened.

Wren took the lead, with Canderous and Bastila flanking her. She could _feel_ it within—the faint darkness exuded by the Star Map. “It’s here,” she said.

“How can you tell?” Bastila asked nervously.

“It feels… dark, I guess. It feels like the one on Kashyyyk did.” She opened the next door.

A spider-like droid whirred to life in the center of the room.

Bastila gasped. “Nemo!” she cried, dashing to the left side of the room and falling to her knees beside the corpse of the Jedi sent before. “He’s dead,” she said after a moment.

“Did you really think he’d be alive after all this time?” Canderous scoffed. 

“The Council sent him here to investigate, and it cost him his life,” Bastila lamented.

Wren, however, was focused on the droid. It had started to speak, but not in any form of language Wren could understand.

“I… didn’t quite get that,” she told it.

The droid tried again, using a different language.

Wren frowned. “Still nothing. You gonna keep doing this until I understand you? _If_ I understand you?”

**“I am programmed to speak any language spoken by the Builders and the slaves of the Builders,”** said the droid.

“I got that one,” Wren said hurriedly. “Who are the Builders?”

“Hold on a moment,” said Bastila, getting up from the ground. “It’s speaking an archaic variant of the Selkath dialect spoken on Manaan. Why is a droid on Dantooine programmed to speak ancient Selkath?”

**“Communication was vital to ensure that the slaves constructed this temple according to the wishes of the Builders. But you are not of the slave species, nor are you of the Builders. You are like the one who came before.”**

Wren nodded. “Revan and Malak. I didn’t see the droid in the vision, but they must have seen it in order to reach the map.” She turned back to the droid. “What is your purpose?”

**“I am the Overseer. The Builders programmed me to enforce discipline among the slaves while this monument to the power of the Star Forge was constructed. At project completion all slaves were executed. I was reprogrammed to serve should a Builder return in search of knowledge of the Star Forge.”**

“The Star Forge again,” Wren observed. “Malak mentioned it in the vision. What is the Star Forge exactly?” she asked the droid.

**“The Star Forge is the glory of the Builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest.”**

“In other words, you don’t know what it is, but it’s probably bad. Excellent.”

“It sounds like some type of… of _weapon,”_ Bastila mused. “Though in fact, it could be anything.”

“What about, like…. a factory or something? That would certainly explain Malak’s fleet.”

Bastila shrugged. “Perhaps. As you say, it would explain how Revan and Malak managed to amass a fleet so quickly. But I suspect the Star Forge is far more powerful than a mere factory.”

Wren thought for a moment before turning back to the droid. “So… who were the Builders?”

**“The Builders are the great masters of the galaxy, the conquerors of all worlds, the rulers of the infinite empire, and the creators of the Star Forge.”**

“Just as vague as the last question.” Wren sighed. “When’s the last time you saw one?”

**“My chronological circuits have marked ten full revolutions of this system’s outermost planet since the last Builder communication.”**

Bastila’s jaw dropped. “Ten revolutions would take more than twenty thousand years! If that’s true, this droid is nearly five thousand years older than the Republic itself!”

Wren shrugged. “I’d believe it. That would at least explain why no one’s heard of these Builders before now. So.” She spoke again to the droid. “How do I access the Star Map within this monument?”

**“Enter the proving grounds to the east and west. Prove yourself worthy, and the path to the Star Forge will open.”**

Wren nodded. “Sounds simple enough. Let’s go.” She led the way through the door on the left side of the droid, only to be met by a blast of flame from the droid that was waiting for them. Bastila managed to stop the stream of fire with a Force Shield, but Wren ducked behind a pillar just in case.

“Canderous! Ion grenade!” she called out.

“Already on it!” the Mandalorian replied, throwing the grenade. Caught in the blast, the droid malfunctioned for a few moments.

That was all it took. Bastila charged in with her lightsaber, dismembering it quickly as Wren and Canderous fired from the end of the room.

Wren peered around the droid wreckage. “That can’t have been the test.”

“There!” Bastila pointed to the back of the room. “There’s a computer terminal. Shall I—”

Wren was already at the terminal, pressing buttons at random. “It’s like that damn droid,” she noted with frustration. “Trying to communicate but failing miserably. Ah!” A rectangular receptacle had opened in the terminal. She inserted her datapad. “Hopefully that will—ah!” The terminal ejected her datapad and words unfurled across the screen, this time in Basic. “Life-giving worlds?” she asked after a moment. “Grassland, Arboreal, Oceanic. Is this really so easy?”

“Don’t talk too soon, Grua,” Canderous warned. “There’s still the other side.”

“Breaking life seal… excellent.” Wren patted the computer. “Now for the other side.”

Canderous and Wren took up positions on either side of the door while Bastila opened it. A moment later, however, Bastila had been frozen by a beam of energy that shot from the droid.

“Carbonite,” Wren cursed. “Temporary, but this is going to be a pain. Avoid that thing if you can.” She stepped out from cover to fire several shots at the droid, ducking back to the side of the doorway when it took aim at her. “Have any more ion grenades?” she asked her companion.

“Just the one,” he replied, pulling it out and throwing it.

It went slightly to the left, so the droid was only half disabled. Fortunately, the half included the carbonite stream. Unperturbed, the droid began firing with its blaster, a continuous stream of bolts directed at the doorway.

“Canderous,” Wren called out. “I’m about to do something very stupid. Cover me.” Without further preamble, she switched her blaster to her left hand (she’d had to learn to use it with both hands when she’d broken her right hand on a smuggling job a few years prior) and drew her lightsaber. Stepping out from cover, she advanced on the droid, relying on her instinct (which she now knew was the Force, though that didn’t make her any more inclined to call it that) to help her block the incoming bolts as she fired in turn on the droid. She reached it almost completely unscathed and proceeded to slice it in half.

“You’re right,” said Canderous. “That was stupid. But it worked.”

Bastila slowly unfroze and Wren got to work on the terminal, repeating the process she’d used on the previous one. After several moments of pressing buttons, the datapad receptacle opened and she slid her datapad into the slot. The computer whirred and churned for another few moments before spitting her datapad back into her hand.

“Primary death-giving worlds…” Wren muttered to herself. “Desert, volcanic, barren. Honestly, how is this even a test at all? Breaking death seal… and done. That should leave the way open for us to keep moving forward.”

Being nearest to the door, Bastila led the way out of the room, but she waited for Wren to step up and open the remaining door. Wren took a deep breath. She could feel the Star Map within, stronger now, almost… _beckoning_ her. She opened the door.

The room was empty. But she had a flash of memory—Malak, protesting as she paced the floor. This room was where the vision had taken place.

She continued forward, drawn by the darkness of the Star Map. Waved her hand almost unconsciously in front of the door, lost in the memory of the vision. The door opened, and she entered, followed by— _a reluctant Malak, still protesting the audacity of the action—_ Bastila and Canderous, as she approached the Star Map, and— _as it opened even Malak fell silent, awestruck—_ she felt Bastila stop beside her.

“This is where it began,” the young Jedi breathed. “Their journey down the dark side. This map… it… doesn’t lead to the Star Forge itself, it seems.” She examined the available coordinates. “Incomplete coordinates, corrupted data…”

“What information is there?” Wren asked, already pulling out her datapad.

“The worlds with complete data here are… well, this is Korriban, I think. And if that’s Korriban, then here is Kashyyyk, and Tatooine… and here’s Manaan.” She turned to Wren, who was copying all the available data. “You found another map on Kashyyyk. Do you… do you think that these other three worlds might have them as well?”

“We’d better hope they do,” said Wren. “Even with the data from both the maps, there’s still not enough to indicate where the Star Forge is. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

Bastila nodded. “We should return to the Council. Report what we’ve found.”

Wren shook her head. “Not yet. I have an out-of-hand family feud to deal with.” She left the ruins, with Bastila and Canderous once again trailing behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, really. I'm so sorry. I did not want to do this, Wren decided she was going to do it pretty early on and it became way too central to her development for me to change it. Maybe someday I'll write an AU where she's a little more patient or a little less desperate to finish this up and get the hell away from the Jedi. Until then... I'm still sorry.


	12. Control Your Passions

One very productive detour into a series of caves later (Wren found several lightsaber crystals, including a purple one) they walked onto the Sandral grounds and approached the droid guarding the door.

“By what authority are you trespassing on this estate?” the droid demanded.

Wren stepped forward. “I bring news of Casus Sandral. He’s dead.”

“Casus is dead?” the droid seemed taken aback. “Then it is as we feared. You should speak to Nurik yourself. He will want to question you on the details of his son’s death. Nurik left orders he was not to be disturbed, but given the circumstances I will make an exception. Go into the main hall. Nurik will meet with you there.”

They proceeded into the house. It was barely a minute when the door to the interior opened and Nurik Sandral stepped out. “I’ve been informed by my protocol droid that you have news of my son, Casus,” he said.

“Your son Casus is dead, Mr. Sandral.”

“Casus… is dead? I was… afraid of this, yet in my heart I knew it must be true. What… what happened to my son?”

“He was killed by kath hounds while exploring the ruins. I recovered his diary.” Wren withdrew the datapad and handed it to Nurik.

“Kath hounds?” Nurik took the diary and turned it on, scanning the pages enough to confirm Wren’s story. “I was so certain the Matale family was to blame.”

“Typical,” Wren muttered under her breath.

“But this changes nothing! My own son is dead, why should I shed one tear over the disappearance of my bitter enemy’s son?”

“Typical,” Bastila agreed with Wren. “Anything to continue the feud which has become so customary to you people.”

“Maybe you could… oh, I don’t know… sympathize?” Wren questioned sardonically. “Oh, of course, what am I saying. How could I forget? The Matales aren’t _human,_ are they, they’re just monsters hell-bent on making your existence miserable, is that right?”

“It might as well be!” Nurik snapped.

Wren inclined her head. “I’m certain they’d say the same about you. Doesn’t make either side true.”

“We have nothing further to discuss,” Nurik said firmly, turning his back on them and walking away. “Please, leave me to my grief.”

When he’d been gone a few moments, Canderous turned to Wren. “He knows more than he’s telling us. I don’t trust him.”

Wren nodded. “If you were Carth, I might say you were being paranoid, just for fun, but you’re right. He’s holding something back. Did a good job of hiding it, masking it with his grief, but it was certainly there.”

“If he believed Matale was responsible for Casus’ disappearance, would he retaliate by kidnapping his son?” Bastila wondered.

“Yes,” said a voice from the doorway. A girl emerged, one who looked very much like Nurik Sandral.

“Nurik’s daughter, I take it?” Wren asked. 

The girl stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Rahasia,” she introduced herself.

“Wren Grua. This is Canderous Ordo and Bastila Shan. We’re here on behalf of the Council. So is Shen here?”

“My father has not been himself since Casus disappeared. He is mad with grief, convinced the Matales are responsible. He is not thinking rationally.”

“Get to the point,” Wren said.

“My father is a good man,” Rahasia continued. “When my mother died, he raised me and Casus by himself. He loves his children, and we love him. I just don’t want you to judge him too harshly.”

“Get to the point,” Wren repeated.

“You must understand that Father has been under a terrible strain.” Rahasia’s voice started to rise in pitch. “I have no wish to disobey him, but there are cases in which even my father’s authority is not absolute.”

“Get. To the point.” Wren held up a finger, pointing at a spot in the air. “This is the point. This is you.” She took her other hand and drew a circle in the air around her finger. “Quit stalling.”

“My father has kidnapped Shen Matale,” Rahasia admitted. “He is holding him prisoner here in the compound as a way to get back at the Matales for Casus.”

“I see,” said Bastila. “Well, there is the answer we seek. The Jedi Council should be informed at once.”

“No!” Rahasia cried.

Wren looked over at her, curious. “Why not?”

“I’m afraid my father will hurt Shen if you go to the Council! He may even succumb to some sort of mad lust for vengeance and kill him!”

“But… he’s a good man. Right.” Wren sighed. “People. Ugh. What do you want us to do, Rahasia?”

“My father must be stopped. Please, find Shen and rescue him before my father does something he will regret forever! Take this key. It will open an unguarded door at the rear of the estate. Enter the door and follow the hallway around to the right. Once it turns the corner, the prison is the first door on the left. You and Shen can make your escape through the back. Please hurry. You are Shen’s only hope.”

Bastila made to leave, but Wren held up a hand. “Why do you care so much?”

“I met Shen once, near the Jedi Enclave, away from our families. We got to know each other, became friends, and… and fell in love. He was even becoming friends with my brother Casus, but then… all this happened. Please, find him. You are our only hope.”

Rahasia disappeared back into the house as Wren followed Bastila and Canderous out the door. “Wow, that took a while,” she muttered to the Mandalorian.

“No kidding. I hate it when people don’t get to the point. Now where’d she say that door was?”

“The back of the estate,” said Bastila. “Follow me.”

Canderous and Wren exchanged a look before following.

The door, as Rahasia had said, was unguarded on the outside. Inside, there were a few mines and one security droid. Bastila and Canderous dealt with the droid while Wren disabled the mines, pocketing them for later use.

“She said right, yeah?”

“Correct,” said Bastila, already leading the way.

They encountered two more mines and one more security droid in the hall—they dealt with them the same way they’d dealt with the first batch. Then Wren spotted a door with a mine planted directly across the entrance.

“Stay back,” she warned. “That must be it.” She crept forward, doing her best not to trip the mine, and disabled it. “This mine’s more sophisticated than the others,” she noted. “This must be the prison. Hold on a moment.” Pulling out a security spike, she hacked into the lock. It took several seconds, but soon the door was open, revealing a young man. “You take after your mother or something?” Wren asked him abruptly.

“What?” The young man’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re Shen Matale, right? You look _nothing_ like your father. Come on, let’s go.”

“No!” he cried out. “No, I can’t leave here, it’s too dangerous.”

“Please,” Wren scoffed, “you’ve got two Jedi and a highly armed Mandalorian for protection. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about _me,_ ” said Shen. “I’m worried about Rahasia. If Mr. Sandral finds out I escaped, I’m afraid he’ll take it out on her!”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Everyone insists this guy is nice and a good man and all that, and yet everyone also seems convinced he’s half a psychopath! Which one is it?”

“Um…”

“That was a rhetorical question. What if Rahasia escaped with us?”

“If you can convince Rahasia to escape with us, I’ll come with you. But only then!”

Wren sighed deeply. “Must everyone be so problematic? Fine. I’ll talk to Rahasia.” She closed the door behind her, thought for a moment, then opened it again. “Do you know where her room is?”

He didn’t, precisely, but he was able to give her a general direction to work with.

“Fine, fine. Be right back.” She closed the door again and proceeded down the hall.

Fortunately, away from the unguarded back door, the security was much more lax. They only had to destroy two more security droids before they reached the hallway where Rahasia’s room supposedly was.

It took a couple of wrong doors (and a few hundred looted credits) but they found the door.

Rahasia looked up. “Have you found Shen yet?”

“He’s refusing to leave unless you come too.” 

Rahasia blushed. “Shen can be so stubborn sometimes,” she said, smiling. “Very well. I can’t be seen with you, but tell Shen I’ll meet you outside the back door.”

Wren nodded and headed back toward the prison while Rahasia ran down the hall in the other direction. Hurrying back down the hall, she opened the door to Shen’s cell. “Come on. Rahasia will meet us outside.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi.”

“Don’t call me Jedi,” Wren snapped.

Shen was taken aback. “Sorry. Thank you, though. I’ll feel much better knowing Rahasia is safe with me rather than here facing her father’s wrath.”

“Again with the wrath thing!” Wren exclaimed as they headed for the exit. “Is he crazy or not? Don’t answer that,” she added, pushing open the door to the exterior. “Better safe than sorry.”

Rahasia was waiting for them. “Shen!” she cried. “You’re safe!”

“Rahasia! Thank goodness you managed to escape!”

“Yes, yes, lovers’ reunion and all that.” Wren waved a hand impatiently. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know… running away?”

“Why should—” Rahasia glanced at the house, then out onto the plains. “Right.”

Nurik Sandral emerged from around the side of the house, looking greatly upset, while Ahlan Matale, looking equally upset, approached the house from the plains to the north. Both were flanked by security droids. 

“Well, this could get ugly real fast,” Wren muttered. “Lesson of the day, kids: run away first, happy reunions later when you’re _actually_ safe.”

“There you are, Shen!” Matale cried.

“Father!” called Shen.

“Mr. Matale!” Rahasia cried in alarm.

“Rahasia!” yelled Sandral.

“Father!” Rahasia’s voice sounded just as alarmed as it had when she addressed Mr. Matale. 

“Mr. Sandral!” Shen looked scared. _I guess that answers the question about the crazy,_ Wren thought to herself.

“Nurik!”

“Ahlan!”

“I _knew_ this was all your doing!” Ahlan accused. “I knew you had captured my son!”

“You had taken my Casus _long_ before that!” Nurik shot back. “You started it!”

Wren held up a hand. “Actually, Mr. Sandral, I believe I explained this to you… that was _kath hounds._ I don’t _think_ the words ‘kath hounds’ sound anything like ‘Ahlan Matale’...?” She turned to Canderous and Bastila, a questioning look on her face.

Canderous shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”

“So I’m really not sure where that miscommunication came from… unless, of course, you’ll only accept the story that goes along with your prior assumptions.”

“I don’t want to hear any of your excuses!” snapped Ahlan. “Now I will get revenge for your transgressions!”

“Both of you _calm down!”_ Wren shouted, irritation and impatience overcoming her. _“None_ of this is helping!”

“Please, listen to her, Father!” Shen begged.

“Why should I listen to the Jedi? All _you_ want is to remain with that Sandral harlot!”

“My daughter is not a harlot, Matale dog!”

Wren gritted her teeth. “I’m sure this was bound to happen eventually but did it have to happen while I was in the neighborhood?”

Bastila shrugged. “Maybe if you’d stayed instead of running off to Kashyyyk, you could have avoided the problem entirely.”

Wren made a growling noise. “Point… taken,” she admitted. “Hey!” she shouted. “Why doesn’t everyone stop _yelling_ and try to actually have some kind of rational discussion and come to a mutual conclusion?”

“That is… surprisingly sensible of you, Wren,” said Bastila.

She shrugged. “I have my moments.”

Nurik took a deep breath. “We are… _trying_ to be _reasonable,_ of course. We are… sensible people, after all. But our children are being so… _stubborn!”_

Wren snorted. _“They’re_ the ones being stubborn? That’s rich. That’s like Carth accusing someone of being paranoid.”

Canderous gave a snort of laughter which he immediately tried to disguise as a sneeze as the furious gazes of Nurik and Ahlan landed on him.

“If Shen would just understand that he has to do what I _want,_ this would all be solved easily,” Ahlan complained, turning back to Wren.

Wren looked from one party to the other, incredulous. “Are you serious? He’s an actual adult, don’t you think he can make his own decisions?”

“No!” Ahlan snapped. “I won’t let you do this!”

“I don’t care anymore!” Shen cried. “Rahasia and I will live on our own if you won’t accept us!”

“You will do no such thing! I am your father, and I order you to come back with me!”

Wren leaned over to Canderous. “It’s like arguing with a spoiled rich kid,” she whispered. “Except Matale Sr. is the spoiled rich kid in this scenario.”

“Entitled bunch of—” Canderous started to mutter back, but he was cut off by Shen.

“No, Father, I won’t.”

“Rahasia!” Nurik called to his daughter. “You will not leave with this… this Matale boy!”

Wren gave him a huge fake grin. “Hey, you admitted he’s human, there’s a start!”

“I am, Father, and you can’t stop me! The Jedi will take us in if you won’t! Come on, Shen!” Rahasia grabbed Shen’s hand and _finally_ started running.

“Took them long enough,” Wren muttered.

“You foolish girl!” Ahlan called after them.

“Let them go!” Wren tried to intervene.

Ahlan turned on her. “You expect us to let them leave?”

“Um…. yes?”

“Droids! Stop them!”

Wren rolled her eyes and gave a frustrated sigh as Nurik, predictably, retaliated.

“Do not turn your droids on my daughter! Droids! Don’t let them take Rahasia!”

“We appear to be at an impasse, then! And they got away!”

“Good,” said Wren in clipped tones. “I ought to just lock the pair of you in a room for a few days, see what happens. Maybe make the key accessible only through teamwork or something. But oh, wait, I don’t care enough. Your problems are your problems, but you don’t need to keep dragging your children into it!”

“I will not rest until I have my Shen back!” Ahlan insisted. “The Council will hear of the trouble you caused today, Jedi!”

“Indeed they shall!” Nurik agreed.

Wren gave another falsely cheery grin. “Hey, look, you actually _agreed_ on something! Look at all the progress we’re making here today!”

But Nurik was already back inside, and Ahlan was on his way back across the plains to his estate.

“Ugghhhhhhhhhhh,” exclaimed Wren. “Are all disputes this infuriating?”

Bastila smiled sympathetically. “I understand your frustration. However, we should report to the Council on the outcome of our mission, and what we found in the ruins.”

“Of course,” Wren sighed. “As long as it means I can get out of here as soon as possible.”

“Be mindful of your feelings,” Bastila cautioned. “I understand this has been a difficult time for you, but you must learn to control your emotions.”

Wren opened her mouth to retaliate, then stopped. “You’re being nice to me,” she observed suspiciously. “Well, your version of nice, anyway. Something bothering you?”

Bastila shook her head, frowning as they began the walk back to the Enclave. “Not bothering me. Not exactly. I’ve been thinking about what the Jedi Council said about the two of us.”

“What, the bond thing?”

She nodded. “There is a bond between us, I do not dispute that. I can feel it, as I’m sure you can.”

“Much as I try not to,” Wren muttered.

Bastila sighed. “I can agree that the thought of being joined to another so… intimately… is slightly unsettling. Particularly one who seems so vehemently opposed to everything I stand for.”

“Hey, I came back, didn’t I? I went through this training for weeks—”

“By your own admission, you underwent the Jedi training in order to better protect your friends from the dangers your power would bring upon them. A noble goal, if perhaps ultimately a selfish one. However, in your case, becoming a Jedi does not mean you think of yourself as one of us, nor does it mean you agree with our values.”

“You got that right. And nothing you say is going to change that, by the way, so don’t even bother trying,” she added as Bastila opened her mouth to speak again. “But this bond,” she continued, in an effort to steer the subject away from her lack of adherence to the Jedi Code, “what does it mean, exactly? I don’t really understand it.”

Bastila took the bait. “Our fates are strongly connected,” she explained. “I suspect our destinies will come to light in our quest to stop Malak by finding the Star Forge. But the connection is so strong that a literal bond has been forged between us.”

“So… we’re bonded through the Force, then?”

“I believe so, yes. Even at a distance, we are connected. While you were on Kashyyyk, I could feel snatches of your stronger emotions. Once or twice I even viewed your circumstances in a vision.”

Wren frowned. “So, what, you can spy on me through the Force, then?”

“Not intentionally, I assure you. If my theory is correct, the bond will broadcast more intense emotions to one or the other of us. More likely danger than anything else.”

“So it’s like a distress beacon or something?”

“In… a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose that is one way of putting it.” She hesitated. 

Wren rolled her eyes. “Out with it. What else do you want?”

Bastila looked uncomfortable. “I… well, I saw your service record when you transferred aboard the _Endar Spire,_ but beyond that I know very little about you.”

Wren shrugged. “Okay, ask whatever you want, I guess.”

Bastila nodded. “What kind of background do you have?”

Wren’s eyes narrowed. _“That_ would have been on my service record, and since my service was so short I have no doubt you’d have remembered it. Well, unless they made it classified to hide my true origins, but even then I doubt you’d have had trouble accessing it.”

Was it Wren’s imagination, or was Bastila paler than usual? “What do you mean by your ‘true origins’?” she asked carefully.

“I was a smuggler,” Wren informed her.

Bastila let out a breath she had apparently been holding, though Wren couldn’t fathom why. “How did you end up joining the Republic?”

“They finally managed to track me down, I trapped them, and they decided to hire me instead of failing to capture me again.”

“Very good. On which planet were you born?”

“Okay, now _that_ was _definitely_ on my service record. What’s the _real_ point of this?”

Bastila huffed. “I wanted to see how you would respond. Whether you would take the matter seriously.”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “There are far better ways to tell if a person is taking something seriously. You were asking me simple things because you knew I’d respond sarcastically to inane questions. Not too bad for rigging the system, I suppose, but you could still use some practice.”

“This _is_ a serious matter!” Bastila insisted. “Our bond will shape both our destinies, it is not something that should be taken lightly!”

“I’m not taking the _bond_ lightly, believe me. Just you.”

“Why, you—” Bastila stopped, taking a deep breath. “No. There is no emotion. There is peace.”

“I guess now’s not a good time for me to bring up the issues I have with the Jedi Code, is it?”

Fortunately, Bastila was spared the trouble of answering by their arrival at the Enclave. “We’ll finish this discussion another time.” She speared Wren with a disdainful stare before leading the way back to the Council chambers.

“Ah, so you have returned, young Padawan.” Wren gave Vandar an exasperated look. “Padawan Grua,” he corrected himself. “Have you discovered what it was that Revan and Malak sought in the ruins?”

Wren nodded. “The Star Map, as I expected. And more mentions of the Star Forge that Malak talked about in our vision.”

“I consulted our vast archives while you were gone in an effort to determine the nature of the Star Forge, or to find any mention of it at all,” said Dorak. “All my efforts have been in vain.”

“Still, the Council are in agreement,” said Vrook.

“Wonder how often that happens,” Wren muttered under her breath. 

“The Star Forge must be found!” Vrook continued, heedless. “Revan and Malak sought it out when they began their tragic fall; it is surely some powerful tool of the dark side.”

“Now that, I can agree on,” Wren put in. “It wasn’t strong, but even the Star Maps have some… taint of darkness around them. I could feel it, here and on Kashyyyk.”

“The Star Map in the ruins showed you four planets, but it was incomplete,” Vandar continued. “We believe that each Star Map is a small piece in a larger puzzle. Find the Star Maps on Tatooine, Manaan, and Korriban, and we believe they will lead you to the Star Forge.”

Wren pressed her lips together. “That’s a lot of guesswork, but I’d come to the same conclusion myself. I take it this is my mission?”

“Correct, Padawan Grua,” said Vandar. “We realize the importance of this mission. Yet if we send a company of Jedi Knights with you, we would surely draw the full attention of Malak and the Sith, dooming your efforts to failure.”

“I can handle it,” Wren said.

Vandar smiled a little. “Secrecy is our best defense against the Sith, but it would be foolish to send you on this quest without someone to aid you. Bastila will accompany you, for there is a powerful connection between you two, a connection that might be the key to unraveling the mysteries uncovered by Revan and using them to stop Malak.”

Wren sighed a little. “Of course. What about the rest of my crew? They’ve been waiting around here for weeks, don’t tell me I have to send them away now. Not that I would even if you told me to,” she added under her breath.

“Those who aided you on Taris and Kashyyyk will also come,” Vandar agreed. “They possess skills you may find useful in your quest. Remember that secrecy and discretion are paramount to your success. You will not be able to hide the fact that you are a Jedi—”

“Watch me,” muttered Wren. 

“—nor should you, but the true nature of your mission must not reach Malak’s ears.”

Wren nodded. “When do we leave?”

Vrook shrugged. “Whenever you wish. The sooner the better. The longer you wait, the stronger Malak becomes. But first, a warning: the lure of the dark side is difficult to resist. I fear this quest to find the Star Forge could lead you down an all too familiar path.”

“The fate of the galaxy is in your hands, Padawan Grua,” Vandar said solemnly. “We pray you are up to the challenge. May the Force be with you.”

Wren nodded crisply, turned, and left the Council chamber.

 _______________________

The crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ convened in the main hold twenty minutes later.

“So, Grua,” Canderous broke the silence. “Where are we headed?”

“Tatooine, Manaan, or Korriban,” Wren replied readily. “I say Korriban. The sooner we get there, the smaller the chance of the Sith figuring out what we’re up to and all attacking at once.”

Bastila shook her head. “I disagree. We should wait. Korriban is sure to be the most dangerous planet we encounter, and the Sith presence only increases that danger. We should wait until we’ve had more of a chance to prepare.”

Wren looked at Jolee, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me, lass. It’s your call—I’m just along for the ride.”

“Mission?”

“I think we should go to Tatooine,” Mission said, looking at the ground.

Wren peered at her more closely, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” said Mission morosely.

“Uh huh.” Wren pulled a skeptical face. “It’s okay, we’ll talk more later. Other opinions?”

“Bastila has a point,” said Carth, not looking at Wren. “Korriban’s full of Sith, we—we don’t want to go in there unprepared.”

“Zaalbar?”

Zaalbar shook his head.

“All right, I’m overruled. Tatooine it is. Ugh. If I burn to death in the desert, Mission, I’m blaming you.”

“Blame Revan,” Mission countered. “And Malak. It’s their fault we’re even out here doing this, ya know?”

Wren pointed a finger at her. “You have a point there, Mission. All right. Carth? Tatooine, please.”

He headed for the cockpit and she followed as the others dispersed themselves throughout the ship.

“Carth?” Wren ventured as they sat down.

“What?” he responded shortly, eyes fixed on the instrument panel.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said flatly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” was all he said.

“You won’t look at me, you barely talk to me. I’ve barely even _seen_ you since I joined the Jedi, what—why are you—”

“You really don’t know?” He broke eye contact with the main instrument panel to look over at her.

Wren shook her head mutely, a growing sense of dread overcoming her. It felt like some sort of gravitational anomaly had opened up in her chest and was dragging her insides into it.

“You said it yourself,” Carth burst out. “I’ve seen you maybe once or twice in the past month. Longer, even. I don’t like being left out of the loop.”

“You were born out of the loop,” Wren snapped in an effort to conceal her growing unease.

“Cute,” Carth said. “Any cuter and you’d pass for a Gamorrean’s sister.”

“Better than a Gamorrean’s mother.” She could do banter. Banter was easy. If she could just keep this up—

“I’m serious! Nobody seems to want to tell me anything and it’s really starting to irritate me. For one thing, I want to know what the Jedi Council said to you. They pulled you in there and refused to tell me a thing about it.”

“You asked them?” Wren asked, disbelieving.

“No, of course not. But Bastila’s being as close-mouthed as possible and I can’t imagine they’d be any better. I was hoping to get some answers from you.”

“You wanting answers from me doesn’t explain you avoiding me at all costs.”

“Okay, you want the real reason? Here it is. They should be training you more. You have this… this huge amount of power at your disposal, and they’ve barely given you a few weeks to learn how to use it. To control it. Hell, you—you _killed_ someone, Wren! And now they’re just—just letting you run off to—”

“Destroy the galaxy? First Juhani, then the galaxy, is that what this is? I made a mistake, Carth! And if you don’t think I regret it with every fiber of my being, then—”

“That’s just my _point!”_ Carth exclaimed. “You made a mistake. A big one. Shouldn’t they be… I don’t know, giving you more training so you learn to avoid things like that?”

“I’m doing just _fine,_ thank you very much,” Wren spat.

“That is completely beside the point. You’re a neophyte Padawan who’s been saddled with the responsibility of finding these—these Star Maps, I mean—that’s not _normal!”_

“Bastila and I are bonded through the Force,” she explained hotly. “They thought it was more important that we try to find the Star Forge and stop Malak than stay and get more thorough training. All right?”

“And why is that? You were a great help on Taris, but _why_ would they keep you with us? I may not know much about the Jedi, but I do know they’re not famous for taking on old Padawans and sending them off on dangerous assignments a few weeks later. That’s not normal.”

“Yeah, you said,” Wren replied coldly.

“Look, I’m not trying to provoke you or imply that you’re somehow… responsible for the Jedi Council, but… give me a hand here! There has to be a reason.”

Wren narrowed her eyes at him. “You saying I’m not needed?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean that you weren’t wanted, or that _I_ want to go, it’s just… _damn_ it!”

“Ha.” Wren gave a humorless huff of breath. “You got that right.”

“I’ll tell you this much, I am _not_ going to wait around until I’m betrayed again.”

Wren froze. Her entire body just stopped working completely for a few moments. Blank shock coursed through her veins.

“I thought you said you trusted me,” she said quietly, monotone.

“Yeah? Well that was before—” Carth broke off.

“Before I killed someone. Yeah, I got that.” She stared at the co-pilot’s instrument panel, not really seeing any of it. “I made a mistake, Carth. I’m not Saul.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

Wren unfroze, her head snapping around to stare at Carth. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one she least expected, and the one that hurt the most. Did he really think she’d changed so much…?

“Wren,” he started. “Wren, I didn’t—”

“Fine,” she said icily. “You clearly don’t need me here. What’s the use of someone you don’t _trust,_ after all?” She stood robotically and stalked out of the cockpit. She heard him calling after her, but she didn’t turn. If he wanted to apologize, he could damn well do it on her terms.

She passed Bastila on her way into the main hold. She looked concerned, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Wren shook her head. “Not right now, Bastila.” Bastila’s mouth shut with a snap. After a slight pause, she nodded and passed Wren, heading to the cockpit herself.

Wren, meanwhile, decided to seek out Mission. Something had been bothering her earlier, something that had to do with her wanting to go to Tatooine, and Wren was going to find out what it was.

She found the girl shuffling Pazaak cards in the starboard bunk room. Wren knocked on the door frame. Mission looked up, gave a sad excuse for a smile, and went back to shuffling.

Taking that as an invitation, Wren entered the room and sat down opposite Mission. “What’s bothering you?” she asked directly.

Mission looked up. “You sure get straight to the point, don’t you?”

Wren shrugged. “No sense beating around the bush. Just a waste of time, really. But really, what’s wrong?”

Mission scrutinized her for a moment. _“You’re_ not okay,” she observed. “Are you?”

“That’s not the point,” Wren said quickly. “Mission, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Only if you tell _me_ what’s wrong with you, after.”

“All right. I’ll tell you. After.”

“Swear?” Mission held out her pinky.

Wren linked her pinky with Mission’s, smiling. “Swear.”

“All right.” Mission took a deep breath. “I mentioned my brother before, remember?”

Wren nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“I never told you what happened to him. He smuggled both of us to Taris, and we stayed together there for a while.”

“Wait, wait, hold on. He _smuggled_ you?”

“Yeah. We were cramped in a cargo hold with just enough food and water to last the trip. Not exactly first class, ya know? See, I don’t really like talking about it, cuz it makes us sound like we were criminals. Well… maybe my brother was.”

“What happened to him?”

“He got this girlfriend. _Lena.”_ Mission sneered the name. “She was a dancer at the local cantina. Griff was a pretty smooth talker and it wasn’t long before the two of them were dating. But Lena was used to dating rich Tarisian nobles, and Griff and me barely had anything. After a little while, Griff came to me and told me they were going to go seek their fortunes off-world. He said he’d come back for me… and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Sounds like he ditched you.”

“Oh, I know what happened. The minute they got off Taris, Lena sunk her claws into him but good. She twisted him all around her little finger and made him forget all about me!”

Wren frowned. “What else?”

“I… I ran into Lena. On Dantooine. I was with Carth, and then she approached us, and…” she snickered. “Carth had to hold me back to keep me from clawing her eyes out. But she said… she said that it was _Griff’s_ idea to leave me behind, not hers!”

Wren, unsurprised, nodded for Mission to continue. 

“She said he started working for Czerka on Tatooine, but she dumped him. She was just passing through Dantooine, and we happened to be there… I mean, what are the odds of that?”

Wren blew out a breath. “Bastila would say it’s the will of the Force, but me? I don’t know. But it’s okay. I know what you’re getting at. While we’re there, we can check in the Czerka offices, see if there’s any record of him.”

Mission threw her arms around Wren’s neck. “Thank you thank you thank you!!” she cried. “I knew you’d understand!” After several moments of squeezing Wren as tightly as she could, she pulled away and sat back on her heels. “Now. You have to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Wren sighed. “Just Carth being his usual paranoid self. It’s not really that big a deal, it’s just…”

Mission’s eyes narrowed. “What did he say to you?”

“It’s nothing, really,” she insisted. “He’s just… suspicious of the Jedi and taking it out on me, I guess. Or lumping me in _with_ the Jedi, which is even worse. I told him everything I know, but he…and…” She trailed off again.

“Is he mad at you about Juhani?” Mission asked suddenly.

Wren looked up, startled. “How did you know that?”

“That’s the only thing that would get you this upset. I _know_ you feel bad about that, he has no right to give you crap for it!”

“Mission, it’s fine,” Wren placated. “I’ll get over it.”

“I’m not worried about _you_ getting over it.” Mission waved a hand impatiently. “That man can hold a grudge like nobody’s business. I’ll talk to him,” she stated determinedly.

Wren’s eyes widened. “No, no, no, no, no, please don’t do that. At least not for a while. If he’s still not talking to me by the time we find the Star Map on Tatooine, we’ll talk again, but I don’t want him… I don’t know.”

Mission huffed. “Fine. But if you don’t work out your problems, I’ll have to get involved.”

With that threat ringing in her ears, Wren headed to the cargo hold to train with her lightsaber. While she planned on using it as little as possible, she needed the training for when she _did_ have to use it, and if she was planning on dueling Malak one-on-one (these things always seemed to end that way; she might as well prepare for the worst) she’d need to be as good as she could be with it.

She’d only been at it for about half an hour when she turned to find Jolee standing in the doorway. “Jolee,” she greeted, surprised. “Can I help you?”

He waved a hand. “Just wanted to see what all the noise was about. I see you’re putting that Jedi training to good use.”

“Or trying to, anyway,” Wren sighed. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“How’d you leave the Jedi?”

Jolee looked briefly troubled. “I didn’t leave the Jedi order. It left me. But that’s a story for another time.”

Wren nodded slowly. “All right, then. What about your adventuring days? You mentioned something about that earlier.”

Jolee leaned against the door frame casually. “Did I say that? Strange the tricks memory plays on you when you get older.”

Wren, who had in some way missed his elusive approach to conversation, pulled up a crate and sat down. “So were you an adventurer or not?”

“Didn’t I say that my past was my affair? You don’t see me poking and prodding you with questions, do you?”

Wren inclined her head. “No, but I could use the distraction. And I’m curious. Stop being an old coot.”

“Heh. I might be. But a mouthy young thing like yourself shouldn’t get to call me an old coot, damn it! And besides, you don’t really want to hear about me. We’re talking ancient history, probably before you were born. History bores kids. Proven fact.”

Wren smirked. “Well, old people love to talk about history. Proven fact.”

“Oh fine, fine, have it your way. Just don’t start crying about it later. Yes, yes, I was an adventurer. Happy now? I wasn’t even done with my Jedi training back then. I had a full head of hair and an eagerness to see absolutely everything. Sound familiar? The Council was never happy with willful, brash Jolee Bindo, you see. Even less so when I began my smuggling career.”

Wren’s face lit up in surprise. “You were a smuggler too?”

“Don’t look at me like that, damn it! I wasn’t always the wrinkled coot I am now, you know. I can still fight, too, so wipe off that smirk I see there!” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. At the time the Ukatis system was being interdicted by its own king. He preferred to keep his people starving and poor, all the better to oppress them. The Senate was trying to negotiate a peace, but they were getting nowhere as usual. I decided I wasn’t going to wait. I found myself a ship and a partner and began smuggling food and supplies to the Ukatis citizenry through the blockade.”

“Where’d you get your hands on all the supplies?” Jolee looked shifty for a moment. “I _was_ a smuggler, Jolee,” Wren reminded him. “I know exactly how most of us get our supplies.”

Jolee shrugged, nonchalant. “We didn’t _buy_ all the equipment, per se. Some were happy to donate. Others… well, I liked to consider it a tax on the greedy.”

Wren grinned. “I like you more and more every day.”

“Heh. Good to know I’m winning you over. Anyway, we only got caught once. A lone Ukatish frigate shot us down and forced a crash landing. I thought the Force had abandoned me, as I remember.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Well, as it happened, getting shot down that day turned out to be very fortunate. You see, that was the day I… well, that… that was the day I met my wife.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “You were married?”

“You know another way to get a wife?” Jolee asked gruffly. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Wren took in his change in demeanor—his face was downcast, eyes fixed on the ground, his voice had dropped in pitch and volume, and she could practically feel the _misery_ radiating off him, novice Jedi or no. She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Jolee sighed. “Let me tell you something. If you get to be as old as I am, you’ll get yourself a long list of memories. If you’re lucky, most of them will be good. If you’re not, some will be bad. If you’re really unlucky, some will be so bad that you won’t want to think about them again, ever. You’ll go to some far-off planet that doesn’t hold any memories at all, and there you’ll be happy just to forget and be forgotten.”

“Is that why you went to Kashyyyk?” she asked quietly.

“Eh. Partly. I doubt I could explain it to you fully, even if I wanted to. Let me ask you something. Have you ever been in love? Truly in love, and not simple infatuation?”

Wren’s eyes darted off to one side, avoiding eye contact. “Well…” She shifted uncomfortably.

“Exactly. You’re still near the beginning of your life. There will be men in your life, or maybe women, perhaps many of them, but if you’re fortunate, you’ll find love _once._ The Jedi, with their damnable sense of over-caution, would tell you love is something to avoid. Thankfully anyone who’s even partially alive knows that’s not true.”

“That’s what I’ve always thought,” she hastened to agree.

“Love doesn’t lead to the dark side. Passion can lead to rage and fear, and can be controlled, but passion is not the same thing as love. Controlling your passions while being in love, that’s what they should teach you to beware. But love itself will save you, not condemn you. Ahh, but listen to me go on as if I have all the answers. What do I know of love anymore? I’m just a lonely old man who’s not even a Jedi.”

Wren’s brow furrowed. “Not anymore, you mean, right?”

“Nope. Never was. Never rose above the rank of Padawan, for various reasons. Does that surprise you?”

Wren thought for a moment. “With the way you describe your past… not really, no.”

“I guess I’m not prone to living life the way most of the Jedi Masters do, that’s true. My opinions on love are no different. Love causes pain, certainly. Inevitably love brings as much sorrow and regret as it does joy. I suppose there are perfect, eternal loves out there… but I haven’t seen any. How you deal with the bad parts of love is what determines your character, what determines the dark side’s hold over you.”

“You don’t think love can work?”

“I suppose it could. It would take a strong person to make that kind of commitment, I think. Someone with a great sense of self. I’ll tell you one thing, though. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you and the one you love simply aren’t meant to be together.  The trick is to know when that is, to know when it’s time to fight and when it’s time to part ways. And there I go, waxing philosophical again. Somebody blast me before I start talking in riddles, damn it!” He pushed off the door frame and plodded back in the direction of the medical bay, leaving Wren to her extremely muddled thoughts.


	13. Split the Party

For the remainder of the trip to Tatooine, she alternated between training, studying some datafiles she’d taken from the Jedi archives, and playing Pazaak with Mission. As for Carth… she wasn’t _avoiding_ him, per se, but she certainly wasn’t actively seeking him out, either. If he wanted to talk to her, _he_ needed to find _her._

Sometimes, that black-hole sensation in her chest threatened to overwhelm her. She felt… lonely. She knew that made no sense—she had Mission, Canderous told her as many war stories as she could ever hope to ask for, and even Bastila would occasionally engage her in a conversation that didn’t make her feel like learning how to use Force Choke, but still she felt lonely.

It wasn’t _company_ she missed, though, it was _Carth._ Almost from the beginning, she’d trusted him more than anyone she’d met since her smuggling crew had either died or left. He was _honest_ with her, and she could be honest with him—he’d understand. But now… now, she was a Jedi, and now she’d killed someone, someone she should have saved. And she didn’t know if things would ever be the same between them. He’d even _trusted_ her, enough to tell her about his family, but after what she’d done... She’d just have to hope he’d make the effort and seek her out. But she couldn’t pretend there wasn’t a moment or two when she was tempted to confront him herself.

A few hours away from their arrival on Tatooine, she was back in the cargo hold, intermittently fighting the practice remotes and repairing them when she broke them. Occasionally, the remotes would get a shot in and burn her, but her technique was rapidly improving.

In between rounds of combat, she was sitting off to one side, trying to improve one of the drones she was practicing with. She looked up as a knock sounded against the cargo hold door. The visitor waited a few moments, then opened the door. It was Carth.

“Oh,” she said, turning back to the remote she’d been tinkering with, trying to access its combat systems.

Carth sighed. “That’s it, huh?”

She snapped her head around to look at him. “What do you want me to say, Carth?” she demanded. “I’m sorry for being upset with you for yelling at me? Well, it’s not going to happen, because I’m not.”

“No! No, of course, not, I—” Carth exhaled frustratedly.

“So what do you want?” she demanded, looking away from him.

Carth sighed again, leaning up against the wall. “I… I’m not very good at this. I know I owe you an apology. Uh, more than one, probably.”

“Okay, and?”

“I was just so desperate to finally face Saul directly in the battle over Taris, and now the Jedi have us looking for these… these Star Maps. I know this mission is important, don’t get me wrong, it’s just, I—I feel a bit useless. I mean, I can fight, sure, but I’m no Jedi. All this feels completely out of my league.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that, but what does that have to do with you chewing me out? And how is it supposed to excuse your actions?”

“It doesn’t, I know. It’s—it’s been awhile since I even had to think about that sort of thing. I just… hate not knowing what’s going on and feeling this… helpless. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. I’ve been a royal pain in the backside, haven’t I?”

One side of Wren’s mouth tugged upwards in a half-smile. “Yep,” she confirmed.

Carth laughed a little. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch,” he joked. His smile faded. “Anyway, I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

Wren smirked, leaning up against the adjacent wall. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should work for it, a bit.”

Carth laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?”

She waved a hand airily. “Blow away the bad guys. Save the damsel in distress. The usual thing.”

Carth gave a genuine, amused smile. “The last time _you_ were in distress, Wren, was probably before you could talk.”

“Who said I was the damsel?”

“Well, you’ve got me there. I figured it was sort of implied, but… maybe not. I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he added.

Wren’s smile faded, and she stared at the ground.

“What?” he asked, not quite catching on.

“What you said before…” she said quietly. “About… about Juhani…”

The mood in the room shifted again as Carth sighed. “Look, I know all this is hard for you. Being… forced, practically at gunpoint, to become a Jedi. Cramming years of training into weeks. You’re gifted, no one’s denying that. You just… you need to be careful. The dark side… I used to think it was some fancy name for something I see every day. Corruption and greed are everywhere, but… but I’m starting to think that for the Jedi, it’s more than that. That there’s this evil, watching them, waiting for its chance. You have so much courage and strength in you, yet, somehow…. I have no trouble imagining it differently. Like the flip side of a coin.”

“And you’re afraid that I’ll… that I’ll turn to the dark side?”

“Well… if I’m being honest, yes. It’s—it’s not just you,” he clarified quickly. “It’s Bastila too. She’s so… intense. I don’t pretend to know much about the Force, but… I know evil.”

Wren’s brow furrowed. “You think Bastila and I are evil?” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Well, I guess me, I can understand, but Bastila… is about as Jedi as they come, right?”

Carth’s look was… sad. “Don’t say that,” he said quietly. “I was wrong. I know you—you didn’t mean to kill an innocent person, it’s just—”

Wren shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. I did mean to kill her. Not right away, maybe, but I had orders to cleanse the taint from that grove, and then she threatened Mission…” She sighed. “What I’m saying is that maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re right to be wary of me, to not trust me. Keep me at arm’s length so I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Carth pushed off the wall, took three steps across the room, and grasped Wren by the shoulders for a moment. “You are not evil, Wren,” he said firmly. “All I’m saying is that neither you nor Bastila is fully trained on how to handle your power. Please, believe me, I’m not angry with you. I’m just concerned at what might come. For both of you.”

Wren met his eyes, not bothering to conceal her emotions. “I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

He blushed, ducking his head. “Well, that’s not—I mean I—well, I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. Either of you. I guess… finding the Star Maps is more important than your training, and your safety. I just hope there isn’t a price for you to pay.”

Wren met his eyes sadly. “There always is,” she said quietly. “I die trying to take down Malak, or soon enough, there’s some new threat out there that I’m expected to go fight. It doesn’t end. It never ends.”

Carth just looked at her intently for a few moments, speechless. Seeming to make some sort of snap decision, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her, rocking back and forth slightly. After a moment of surprise, she reciprocated the hug, holding him as close as she could, some part of her knowing that she was walking a dangerous line and, in the moment, not caring in the slightest.

“I promise you,” he whispered. “Once this is over… no one else will force you to fight their wars. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Okay,” she breathed. Then, more quietly, “Thank you.”

_______________________

She was back in the bunk room with Mission when it happened again. Darkness slid across her vision slowly at first, then more rapidly, and she felt herself falling…

_The same claw-like shape of the Star Map. Malak was there this time, pacing in front of it, brooding. The Map opened, lighting up the area around it—a cave, littered with bones and a few broken pieces of statues._

“Hey!”

Wren blinked her eyes open. Mission was looking down at her, concern etched into her forehead.

“What happened?”

Bastila entered the room at a sprint. “You felt it, yes?” she asked breathlessly.  

“Yeah, are we going to be sharing all of these?”

She nodded. “Presumably, yes. Personally, I was surprised to hear that there would be a Star Map here—Tatooine is known for little but blowing sand.”

Wren frowned, trying to remember. “It looked like the map was in some sort of cave…” She screwed up her eyes, trying to retain the vision. “There were… bones, and broken pieces of statues… maybe some pillars or something? I don’t know. Well, if Revan and Malak found it, I’m sure we can.” She paused. “Did you see the vision I had when I was on Kashyyyk?”

Bastila nodded. “At the time, I thought it was just a strange dream, though now I see it can’t have been a coincidence. We are bonded, through the Force and through these visions. I suppose we’ll just have to learn to make the best of it.”

“Yeah.” Wren pushed herself to her feet. “We landed yet?”

Bastila nodded. “Just a few minutes ago. Carth is preparing to join you. I’d… also like to come, if you don’t mind.”

Wren looked surprised. “Really?” She cocked her head to one side. “So, what, you have some unfinished family business too?”

Bastila shifted her weight uncomfortably but didn’t speak.

Wren did a double-take. “Wait, really? I didn’t think Jedi had family ties.”

Bastila sighed deeply. “We don’t. I… received a message from a friend of my mother, claiming she’s dying and wants to see me. I… was never on good terms with her before I left, and she was the one who gave me up to the Jedi, so I can’t imagine why she’d want to see me now, but… I might as well at least try to find out the validity of her claims.”

Wren nodded slowly. “All right, then. Mission, get ready, you’re coming too.” The Twi’lek jumped to her feet and scurried off to the main hold.

The four of them met with Canderous outside the ship, equipped with desert gear. Jolee, Zaalbar, and T3 had all elected to stay behind—Zaalbar had protested to going out into such heat, the sand would have taken ages to clean out of T3’s hardware, and Jolee had simply muttered something about ‘too old for these damn deserts,’ so they let him stay behind.

“So,” said Canderous. “Where’s this Star Map of yours, and will we get into any fights on the way there?”

Wren had opened her mouth to tell him that they probably would when they were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” said a voice beside them. They turned as one to look at the Czerka officer who’d approached them. He took half a step back as they all looked at him, but plowed on regardless “I’m afraid your ship isn’t registered on our docking schedule… I apologize for any inconvenience, but I’m going to have to charge you a docking fee of 100 credits.”

Wren was once again interrupted—she had opened her mouth to explain to the officer that there would of course be no need for such a thing when Carth, of all people, spoke up.

“Jordo? Is that you?”

The man did a double-take, looking over at Carth as though seeing him for the first time. “Carth? Carth Onasi! You old spacedog, how’ve you been? I thought for sure you’d be fighting on some ship out there.”

“I was. I crashed,” Carth deadpanned.

Jordo burst out laughing. “That’s pretty rich. I can’t imagine what it would take to keep you on the ground. Must have something to do with your pretty friend here, hey?” He tipped his head to Wren. “How do you do, miss?”

Wren allowed him a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Jordo. I take it you know Carth?”

“Sure do. We joined the militia together back on Telos. That was a lot of years ago, of course.” His face fell a little bit.

“So what are you doing here, Jordo?” Carth asked quickly. “Last time I saw you was on… um, well, Telos, actually.”

Jordo nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it’s a shame about home. Telos still hasn’t recovered. The family and I moved on, and I’m working for Czerka now.” He indicated his uniform. “I didn’t see you after… uh, what I mean is… my condolences on Morgana. I, uh… heard what happened. At least your boy made it through all right.”

Carth reeled for a moment like he’d been hit by a two-ton duracrete brick. “My… my boy? You mean… Dustil?”

Jordo looked surprised. “Yes, of course. I saw him at my last stop on Korriban, though he didn’t recognize me. You… didn’t know he was there?”

He was starting to look very uncomfortable, and Wren had a nasty feeling she knew exactly why. _Korriban._

“No!” Carth cried, still blissfully oblivious, for however long that would last. “Jordo, Dustil’s been missing since the attack on Telos, are you… are you absolutely certain it was him?”

“Yeah,” said Jordo carefully. “Yeah, positive. I’d recognize Dustil anywhere. He, uh…” He swallowed. “He’s joined the Sith, Carth.”

Carth looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe it. “What do you mean he’s joined the Sith?”

Jordo shifted his weight, one foot to the other, glancing around at the others as if requesting help. “Yeah. There’s an academy for the Sith on Korriban… he’s a student there. Saw him all suited up in their outfit and everything. Sorry,” he added after a moment. “I… thought you knew.” He fixed his eyes somewhere over Carth’s left shoulder, seeming to think that was safer.

Wren subtly stepped closer to Carth and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He squeezed back. “No… no, I—I didn’t. Well, thanks for telling me, Jordo.”

“Sure,” said Jordo slowly, as though he still wasn’t sure he’d done Carth a favor. “No… no problem. Good to see you again, Carth. I hope… everything works out with Dustil.” He glanced around at the assembled party and seemed to remember why he’d approached. “And, uh, don’t worry about that docking fee. I’ll get it all taken care of for you.”

“Thanks, Jordo,” Carth said sincerely, and the man nodded before walking away. Carth turned to Wren, still reeling. “Dustil… Dustil is alive! We have to go to the Korriban academy and find him!”

Wren kept her grip on his hand, meeting his eyes carefully. “Are you… sure that’s a good idea?” she asked slowly.

Carth shook his head. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know why Dustil would be with the Sith… but I… I have to find out. I have no choice.”

Wren nodded slowly. “I understand. We’ll go as soon as we can. All right? But right now, we’re here, and we have a Star Map to find. All right?”

He nodded. “Okay. Yeah, yeah, of course. I just… Dustil’s alive! All this time I thought he was… he must be a man by now…”

Wren squeezed his hand one more time before letting go, taking charge of the group. “All right. Maybe we should split up. Bastila, if you’d like you can go ahead to take care of your business. Mission, someone should go with you to the Czerka office. In the meantime, whoever’s left should try and find out how we can get out into the Dune Sea and start looking for that Star Map. Maybe get information about caves in the area.”

“If there are desert hunters in this outpost, they’ll probably know,” suggested Canderous.

“Good idea,” said Wren. “See if you can find a hunting outpost. Carth, go with him. I’ll stick with Mission.”

As they headed for the spaceport exit, however, they were interrupted once again, this time by an Aqualish with a datapad.

“Here comes trouble,” muttered Mission as he approached.

**“Hello there, captain,”** he greeted Wren. **“Let’s see here… yes, it looks like the shipment has been delivered to your ship, as requested.”**

“Excuse me, what?”

**“This is docking bay 32, isn’t it? Yes it is, and that’s just what I have here on the requisition form. Everything seems to be in order. The gizka are your problem now.”**

“Excuse me, did you say _gizka?”_ Wren asked with mounting horror.

**“It says right here on the manifest that you ordered a crate of gizka. To be delivered to docking bay 32… that’s right here. Now all I need is your thumbprint for the… wait a second, where did the other datapad go? Nothing is ever organized around here,”** he complained. **“At any rate, the gizka are yours. One of the loaders said the crate split open once he put it in your hold… some of the critters might have gotten loose. That happens, I’m afraid. We don’t accept liability, and we certainly couldn’t take the cargo back. Enjoy.”**

And he walked off, completely deaf to the cries of protest ringing out behind him.

_“Gizka?”_ Wren looked between the retreating Aqualish and the _Hawk,_ despairing. “It’ll take _ages_ to get rid of them all. They’ll take over the whole damn ship in less than a year!”

“We’ll have to deal with it as it comes, I suppose,” said Bastila. “We should keep moving.”

“Agreed,” said Canderous. “The less time we spend on this dustball, the better.”

They split up just outside the spaceport, with Bastila heading east toward the cantina, Carth and Canderous heading into the hunting lodge, and Mission and Wren making their way to the Czerka offices, almost due north.

Just as they were about to enter, however, the sound of a lightsaber being activated carried through the streets. Then three others.

_Shit._

“Wait for me,” Wren instructed, already running after Bastila.

“No way!” the Twi’lek shouted, following her. There wasn’t time to argue.

_“You!”_ one of the attacking dark Jedi cried the minute he laid eyes on Wren. “Lord Malak was—”

“Yeah, yeah, most displeased, I got that,” Wren snapped, standing back and firing on them with her blaster.

It wasn’t working. The bolts bounced back in her direction, deflected by her opponent’s lightsaber. Good thing she’d been training, then. Sighing, she switched her blaster to her left hand and drew her lightsaber, as she had done in the ruins when faced with the carbonite droid. Stepping forward, she engaged the dark Jedi who’d called out to her. She struck, and he parried, but then she locked their blades together, pushing with all her might.

The distraction worked. He pushed back with double the strength, but it gave her the time she needed to put her blaster right up against his chest and fire two rounds into it. He fell, dead within seconds.

Mission, meanwhile, was on the defensive, doing everything she could to block the strikes of the dark Jedi who’d attacked her. Wren took advantage of the Jedi’s distraction to fire on him from behind—a shot to the back and one to the head. He, too, fell, unmoving, just as Bastila slipped past her opponent’s defenses and delivered a stab wound with one end of her double-bladed lightsaber.

She brushed her hair out of her face. “Thank you for the assistance,” she said to Wren. “I… wasn’t sure if I could handle them all on my own.”

Wren smiled. “Of course. Anytime.”

Bastila ducked her head a little before turning and continuing in the direction from which she’d come. Wren gestured for Mission to follow her, heading back toward the Czerka offices.

A stern-looking protocol officer met them as they entered. “Welcome to the offices of the Czerka Corporation,” she said shortly.

Wren stepped forward. “We’re looking for a miner by the name of Griff Vao. Twi’lek.”

The officer looked startled. “Griff? I don’t know any Griff. No, no, no Griff here.”

Wren tilted her head skeptically to one side. “Sure you don’t. You know, we’d probably leave you alone faster if you just told us.”

“Oh, you mean _Griff._ Yes, of course. Must have slipped my mind for a second. Yes, he’s just about the worst worker I’ve ever had, falsifying time cards, sleeping through his shifts. I was about to fire him, but then… well, the Sand People got him.”

Mission reeled. “You—you mean he’s _dead?_ ”

The protocol officer shrugged, uncaring. “We never found a body. I have to assume he was captured. But Czerka Corporation accepts no liability for these sorts of things, and all our employees sign a waiver. We simply don’t have the manpower to send out a search party, particularly for someone so useless.”

“Where would he have been taken if he was captured?” Wren asked.

She shrugged again. “Probably to the Sand People enclave in the south. Their attacks have been the most common in recent months. However, in order to access the enclave, you’d need a hunting license, and we are no longer selling them. There are too many people _cavorting_ about outside the walls as it is.”

“You saying I would _cavort?”_ Wren demanded. “I have business outside the walls, thank you very much. Is there no way to get a license, then?”

She thought for a moment. “There might be one thing. I could give you a license… _if_ you agree to do a task for us.”

“What kind of task?” Wren’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“The Sand People in the area are becoming a problem, as I said. They attack our sandcrawlers, decimate our mining equipment. We would like their attacks… terminated. Permanently.”

“So you want me to go all one-woman-army and wipe them out?”

She shrugged. “Do whatever you need to. Bring me their gaffi sticks as proof, and I’ll pay a bounty for each one, plus a bonus for the chieftain’s. If their chieftain is killed, then the attacks should at least be reduced.”

Wren stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

The officer nodded. “Good. Here is your hunting license. Return to me with the gaffi sticks you retrieve, and I’ll pay you. Dismissed.”

Wren considered protesting at being treated like one of her underlings but decided it wasn’t worth it. She took Mission by the arm and led her outside, heading for the hunting lodge.

A Duros stopped them. **“So, you’re the one Czerka is getting to do their dirty work.”**

“Excuse me?”

He gestured to her hunting license. **“They’ve hired you to wipe out the Sand People, have they not? Do not believe a word of it. There is always a peaceful solution to conflict, they are just too lazy to try. The Sand People are not animals—I’ve watched them, they are intelligent. There must be some way to negotiate with them.”**

“So… what do you propose? Kind of hard to negotiate with a species I can’t understand.”

**“Perhaps with a real translation droid, not these protocol junk heaps wandering around here.”**

“So… where would one get such a ‘real’ translation droid?”

**“I’m sure I heard something about an unusual droid in the shop here on Tatooine. Yuka Laka even claims it can speak the Sand People dialect. Though, he would say rust is gold to make a sale… If you got that droid, maybe you could talk to them. Disguise yourself in their robes to access the chieftain, then negotiate for peace. It’s worth a try, anyway.”**

“And if they attack me anyway?”

The Duros sighed. **“Then do what you must to survive.”**

“All right. Worth a look, anyway.”

**“Sure, that’s what Czerka keeps saying,”** he groused. **“I’ll believe it when I see it.”** And he stalked off.

“Well, that was… enlightening,” Wren said to Mission. “Let’s get Carth and Canderous and we can see about buying this droid.”

When they entered the lodge, Canderous was in one corner speaking with a Twi’lek, while Carth was in another corner with a human. “Get Canderous,” Wren told Mission. “I’ll grab Carth.”

Mission nodded, smirking. Wren punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Don’t you look at me in that tone of voice.”

Mission’s smirk grew as she walked away.

As Wren approached the corner, the man with Carth stopped speaking entirely to stare. “Well, hello there, miss,” he greeted. “What can Tanis Venn do for you today?”

“Just here for my friend,” Wren replied smoothly. She turned to Carth. “Got what we need. And some extra intel. We should head out.”

Tanis Venn cut in again. “Well, sweetheart, if you need anything else, you just come right back here and I’ll do everything I can. You know, not many human females come to Tatooine…” He looked her up and down with a grin.

Carth stepped very deliberately between them, getting in Tanis’ face. “Hey! You speak to her with a little bit of respect in your voice, or you’ll end this conversation minus a few teeth. Got it?”

Tanis, cowed, backed down, nodding hurriedly. “Of course, of course, I meant no offense. I’ll let you be on your way now…” He continued backing away even as Carth fixed him with a glare for another few seconds before turning away.

Wren chuckled as Carth joined her. “You know, I can take care of myself, Onasi.”

Carth sighed. “I know. I just get… you deserve better.”

She smiled. “Good to know that chivalry isn’t dead, then.”

Canderous and Mission met them at the door. “Find anything?” Wren asked Canderous as they exited the lodge.

Canderous shrugged. “Hard to get him to focus, he kept going on about the honor of the hunt. He did say that off in the east there’s a cave that’s said to be home to a krayt dragon.”

Wren pierced him with a look. “Thinking of some recreational hunting?”

He shook his head. “The old man said that the Star Map on Kashyyyk might have had an effect on the creatures. If it’s a similar case here, the dragon may have been drawn in by its power.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “You were actually listening? I’m impressed. And you know, you might be right. Anything else?”

Canderous shrugged again. “He probably knew the desert best of the hunters, but he said no one knows it like the Sand People. For all the good that does us.”

“Actually,” said Wren, “that brings us to my point. I was able to get us a hunting license, in exchange for making the Sand People attacks stop. Czerka wants me to wipe them all out, of course, but you all know how much I like cooperating with Czerka. I’ve got a different idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Carth.

“I heard a rumor that there’s a droid for sale in the droid shop near the city gates who understands the Sand People dialect. If that is actually the case, we may be able to negotiate with them for a peaceful settlement, and maybe even get information on the Star Map from them.”

“Bit of a long shot, isn’t it?”

Wren inclined her head. “I guess, but still, it’s worth investigating. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll check the krayt dragon cave, in case that lead pans out. Plus, I’ll never say no to a new droid.”

“I’m sorry, did you say krayt dragon?” Bastila had joined them.

“Yes? Canderous has a lead on a cave—a krayt dragon lives there, apparently. Theoretically, it could have been drawn there by the power of the Star Map.”

Bastila let out a soft breath. “We should go there.”

Wren peered at her, concerned. “What happened?”

“My father is dead,” Bastila sighed. “My mother wanted to tell me, and now she wants me to retrieve my father’s holocron from the lair of a krayt dragon.”

Wren placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bastila.”

“Why should _she_ have the holocron?” Bastila demanded suddenly, shaking off Wren's hand. _“She_ was the one who got Father killed in the first place! She claims she sent me to the Jedi for my own protection, but—” She broke off, taking a few deep breaths. “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

“Why don’t you believe her?” Wren asked, curious. “If she says that she wanted to protect you—”

“You don’t know my mother like I do,” snapped Bastila. “She twists words, manipulates people. She convinced my father to go on treasure hunts time after time and now it’s gotten him killed.”

“Did you know that remembering something over and over can alter it? The alterations are slight each time, but over a number of years, say… twenty years…”

“Are you suggesting that my mother is sincere? You haven’t even met her!”

Wren held out her hands, placating. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s a possibility you should consider. You’re right, I’ve never met her. But even if you don’t give it back to her, wouldn’t you want to retrieve the holocron anyway?”

“I—yes, yes of course.”

“Then we’ll get it. Once we deal with the Sand People.”

Bastila’s head snapped around to look at Wren, alarmed. “What do you mean, _deal with the Sand People?”_ she asked. “What have you been doing?”

“In order to get a license to leave the outpost, I made a deal with Czerka. If we terminate the Sand People attacks, the deal is honored. They didn’t give me specifications as to how, though they heavily implied they wanted me to wipe them out, but I heard a rumor that there’s a droid in that shop over there that can understand the Sand People dialect. If we can negotiate, I’d like to—the Sand People may also have information on the Star Map.”

“Very well. Let us… investigate this droid, then.”


	14. Homicidal Droid Mediation

The droid shop was dark and dingy. Wren led the way, followed by Bastila and Carth (Mission and Canderous had stayed outside). Everything looked pretty run-of-the-mill, with one exception: a beat-up, rust-colored protocol droid in the corner. When it spotted them, its eyes lit up—literally. Bastila went to confer with the shopkeeper while Wren walked straight up to the droid.

“Greeting: Hello to you, prospective purchaser,” it greeted. Its voice was rough, static-filled, but nuanced. “I am known as HK-47. Query: Would you be so kind as to purchase this model from Yuka Laka? It would serve my purposes to be removed from his ownership.”

“Why’s that?”

If droids had facial expressions, Wren could have sworn he would be sneering. “Statement: The meatbag’s mechanical skills are… negligible. And you appear to be heavily armed. Conclusion: You spend a considerable amount of time in danger. My assistance could be invaluable to you.”

Wren eyed him. “Is it true you can speak the Sand People dialect?”

“Statement: While I cannot conclusively prove it to you if you do not speak it yourself, I shall provide a demonstration. Draw what conclusions you will.” A scraping, guttural noise emerged from his mouth, sort of like a roar, if it was dragged across a field of particularly rough sandpaper at high speeds. Wren exchanged a glance with Carth.

“I don’t really have much choice but to believe you. If you’re lying, we’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. But other than that particular feature, what makes you any better than an armored battle droid?”

“Answer: Finesse. I am highly skilled in eliminating a very… specific type of target.”

Wren’s eyebrows lowered. “You’re beginning to sound like an assassin…”

HK looked around quickly, as though afraid someone was eavesdropping. “Shh! Such a function in a droid is highly illegal. Statement: I therefore make no claim to that designation, prospective purchaser. I am a law-abiding droid. Yes indeed, law-abiding, that’s me!”

“Right…” Wren nodded slowly, one eyebrow raised disbelievingly. “I’ll see about purchasing you, then.”

She turned away from the droid to join Bastila, who was still conversing with the Ithorian shop owner.

“He’s demanding 5000 credits for the protocol droid!” Bastila exclaimed as Wren drew near. “Surely that’s an outrageous price!”

“She’s right about that,” said Wren, turning to Yuka Laka. “I’m sure I can persuade you to lower it. Just a bit?”

**“All right, all right, 4000.”**

Wren frowned thoughtfully. “That was quick. Afraid it’s junk?”

**“No, no, of course not, but you’re never sure when a customer will bite at the first offer.”**

“So, you’re trying to cheat me. Excellent,” Wren said sarcastically. “But still, even 4000 is quite a lot of credits. Think about it this way: if it pans out, and the droid is as excellent as that price seems to suggest, I’ll be sure to send other people your way. If not, you don’t deserve my credits anyway.”

**“What are you suggesting?”**

“2500.”

**“What? That’s practically nothing! 3000!”**

“Done.”

**“Really? I mean, uh, of course! Let me just withdraw those credits… hey, you weren’t lying!”** **  
**

“Of course I wasn’t. Can I take him now?”

**“Yes, yes, go right ahead. It’s equipped with a restraining bolt, but I can deactivate that for you.”**

Wren waved a hand at him. “By all means. Pleasure doing business.” She stepped up to HK.

“Statement: I see you have purchased me, master. I find this a satisfactory arrangement.”

“Glad it suits you,” Wren said casually. “Ready to go?”

“Query: Shall I accompany you now?” the droid asked eagerly. “Shall I kill something for you?”

“Uh… kill something for me?”

HK nodded eagerly. “Answer: Indeed. I am most eager to engage in some unadulterated violence. At your command, of course, Master.”

“Right. Well, you’re welcome to kill things, as long as it’s at my command. Sound all right to you?”

“Answer: Indeed, Master. Query: Shall we proceed with your mission?”

“What makes you think I have a mission?”

“Answer: You were most interested in learning whether I understood the Sand People dialect. Extrapolation: One would assume, then, that your mission requires you to speak with them, correct?”

Wren nodded, impressed. “Not bad. Okay, you got me. I have a mission. Sneaking into the Sand People enclave and negotiating with them is part of it. Czerka wouldn’t approve, and that’s good enough for me.”

They left the droid shop, meeting up with Mission and Canderous and heading toward the exterior gate into the desert. As they approached, however, they were once again interrupted.

**“You there!”** A tiny cry reached Wren just as she was preparing to approach the gate guard. She looked around. A Jawa was waving her over. Curious, she responded to the summons, veering off to the left to approach the diminutive supplicant.

**“You there, of your kind, can you help Iziz of Jawa? There are troubles from the ghosts among the sand.”**

“Ghosts? What do you mean?”

“Statement: It is doubtful he can be clearer,” HK put in helpfully. “Their language is difficult even for droids. He is using a trade language to try and help.”

**“The trouble is yours, not of Jawa,”** the Jawa scolded. **“We must use a language of trade because you listen complicated to what we say simply.”**

“Okay… so what is it you want?”

**“Iziz I am. Leader of the tribe that is mine. You are the same in kind, a leader that stands before your tribe?”**

“I… guess you could say that, yeah,” Wren agreed, looking around at her crew.

**“There are troubles that we have. The giants made of sand, they are horned ghosts that take us away.”**

“Sand ghosts… Sand People?” Wren turned to HK, who nodded. 

“Translation: 98% probability that members of the miniature organic’s tribe are being held by Sand People, master. Doubtless he wishes assistance.”

“Okay, so… what about the other 2%?”

“Translation: 2% probability that the miniature organic is simply looking for trouble and needs to be blasted. That may be wishful thinking on my part, Master.”

Stifling her laughter, Wren turned back to Iziz. “So, what do you want me to do?”

**“There has been no help given by asking the great group that digs with machines. Now Iziz asks you.”**

“Czerka,” Wren muttered. “Of course they wouldn’t help.”

**“I ask that you find us, and then bring away from the People of Sand. Then we will offer a trade with you. Long have we scavenged, among you and those that came before. We have things you will like for this service.”**

“Where have they taken your people?”

**“People of the Sand in the sand. There is a place in the far south where they live.”**

Wren nodded. “The enclave in the south. I’ll check it out when I leave the city. Goodbye.” With a final nod, she left the Jawa where he was and headed to the gate guard.

“No one leaves Anchorhead without proper authorization.”

Wren gave a longsuffering sigh. “Like this?” She flashed her hunting license.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so? All right, I’ll just scan that and you’re off. I’ll keep it on file, too. Good luck out there. You’ll need it.”

He opened the gate so Wren and her party could pass through, shutting it behind them with a resounding _boom._

They weren’t alone in the open desert however. A dark-haired woman stared across the dunes, a self-satisfied grin on her face. She turned as they approached. 

“Hello, there. You’re a hunter, right? You must be, if you’ve been allowed to leave Anchorhead. When you see Tanis, and I _know_ you know him, tell him his wife hopes he enjoys the anniversary gift.”

Wren’s eyes widened as she raised her eyebrows. “That slimeball has a wife? Wow, if your tone of voice is anything to go by, he deserved whatever it is you did to him, ma’am.”

The woman chuckled. “I’ll be long gone soon enough. The next shuttle to… oh, anywhere, really. I’ve had it with cleaning up his messes, repairing his droids. If he lives, he can try and get by on his own. I doubt he’ll last long with no one to listen to his lies.”

“So, just out of curiosity, what did you do?”

“Oh, just fixed his droids a little. If he’s smart, he’ll figure a way out of there. But he’s not smart. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Places to be, things to do. If you see him, tell him his wife Marlena says ‘hello.’” She ran past them, back in the direction of the outpost gates.

Everyone was looking a little confused, except Carth, who looked far too pleased. Wren smiled knowingly at him. “Carth…”

“What? I can’t be at least a little happy that he’s getting what he deserves?”

“I think you may be a bit biased, Carth,” Wren pointed out. “Don’t worry, I’m right there with you. If he’s been doing this to her for as long as it sounds like he has, he deserves everything she gave him. Still, I think we should try and find him. Pass on the message. Maybe give him a quicker death.”

“What are you two talking about?” Bastila asked, staring from one to the other.

Wren shrugged. “Back in the cantina, one of the hunters was flirting with me. Quite insistently too, I might add. Or would have been, if Carth hadn’t gone all chivalrous on his ass. I’m guessing this is something that happens often, and his wife got tired of it, left him to die in the desert.”

Bastila looked horrified. “You do intend to _help_ this poor man, don’t you?”

Wren shrugged. “You’re welcome to help if you want to, Bastila. As far as I’m concerned, he has it coming.”

Bastila’s horrified look intensified. “Wren, that is not the—”

“Jedi way, I’m sure is what you were going to say. Well, good thing I still don’t consider myself a Jedi. Why don’t you look for him while I go and see if I can actually accomplish our mission, hm?”

Bastila seemed to deflate slightly. “I see your point. If we do run across him, however, I do intend to help, whatever you may think of him or his lifestyle.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “If you insist. Come on. If the Sand People are waging war on Czerka, we’ll probably find them attacking that sandcrawler.” She pointed off into the distance where the outline of a sandcrawler was visible. It wasn’t moving.

Wren could feel her skin burning as they approached the machine. It felt like they’d been in the desert for hours already—burning, sweating, surrounded by sand, which somehow managed to get inside her clothing and between her toes, as though it was part of some huge conspiracy to irritate her—and she couldn’t wait to get out of it. That would have to wait, however. They’d barely even begun to accomplish their goal.

“Hey! You over there!” came a voice near the sandcrawler. As they approached, Wren was able to make out a red-bearded man surrounded by six or seven others, presumably miners. “Who are you?” the first man asked before apparently thinking better of it. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. Can you handle a blaster? They may attack again at any second!”

Up close, Wren could see why the sandcrawler hadn’t been moving. She was no expert on sandcrawler engineering, of course, but the smoke rising off it in places was a pretty good indication that it had been disabled somehow. “The Sand People did this, I take it?” she asked, turning to the captain.

“You would be right. Came out of nowhere! We’ve got blasters, but we’re not trained for this sort of thing. I don’t think we’d be able to hold out on our own against another wave of—shit!”

Turning, Wren saw what he meant. A group of six Sand People were rapidly approaching, almost as though they’d simply materialized out of the desert. She drew her blaster, firing off several shots and taking one down before they even got near. Following her example, the others drew their weapons. Bastila and Mission rushed forward to engage them directly, while Carth, Canderous, HK, and Wren stayed back, trying to protect the miners. (Well, Wren and Carth were trying to protect the miners—presumably, HK and Canderous were just trying to kill things). The Sand People were deadly, undeniably, particularly to mostly-defenseless miners, but faced with Wren’s party, they found themselves outmatched. Three waves attacked; three waves were repelled. At the conclusion of the battle, the mining captain thanked them and ordered his men back to Anchorhead. The sandcrawler was beyond salvaging, and they needed to worry about saving their own lives. He thanked Wren one last time before departing.

Carth was patching up a few scratches Mission had received in the fight, and Canderous and Bastila, on Wren’s orders, were scrounging around the bodies, trying to see if they could find any intact Sand People clothing for them to wear.

Wren, meanwhile, was investigating the now defunct sandcrawler. She wasn’t expecting to find much of value, at least nothing that wasn’t either nailed down or too big to carry with them, and her expectations were met, for the most part. However—

“Moisture vaporators?” she asked the empty sandcrawler. “What were they doing with these? Setting up an outpost out here? Hm. I can’t imagine the Sand People were happy about that. Still, could be valuable. Trade them with the Jawas, maybe.” She paused for a moment, frowning. “I’ll get them on the way back,” she decided. Taking note of any other items within the vehicle that could be valuable, Wren exited the sandcrawler, emerging once again in the burning sun.

“Canderous!” she called. “What have you got?”

“We’ve found enough pieces for five intact sets of robes,” Bastila called back.

“The droid will have to do without,” said Canderous. “Hopefully they won’t get too suspicious of that.”

“All right everyone,” Wren said. “Gear up. Cover up as much as you possibly can—we don’t want anything giving us away.”

It worked. The five of them, plus HK-47, walked straight past what must have been half a dozen patrols, reaching the gates of the enclave completely without incident. Wren, with her talent for demolitions, was able to steer them past the mines that were laid at key points, probably in an attempt to deter Czerka from a full-on invasion. If her theory about the moisture vaporators was correct, their seemingly over-the-top defenses would have been paramount to their continued survival before too long, had they not interfered with that sandcrawler.

The Sand People guard at the gate of the enclave, however, stopped them with a scraping howl.

“Interjection: One moment. I believe I understood that, master. It may not have been his intention, but he did actually communicate something.”

Wren looked hastily over at HK. “Quickly, tell him we are not a threat!”

HK nodded. “Translation:” He then proceeded to make a series of noises, more of the sandpaper-like scraping sounds he’d made back in the shop.

The Sand Person replied shortly.

“Result: I believe we have succeeded in confusing him, master. We have shown an interest not common among outsiders.”

Wren inclined her head. “Well, it’s a start. Tell him we want to negotiate for peace. Apologize for the intrusion.”

HK translated, and once again the guard replied. “Translation: He is expressing disbelief… as am I… but his duty requires that he report to his chieftain. Protocol: Master, i would recommend you and your companions remove your disguises before you meet with the chieftain. It may be viewed as disrespectful.”

“Uncharacteristically thoughtful of you, HK,” Wren remarked. “Do as he says.” The others nodded, and they stripped off the Sand People robes, revealing the armor underneath.

The guard spoke once again. As one, they turned to HK. “Translation: He will now lead us to the chieftain, but he warns us that any perceived threat will be met with violence. I would much rather this get bloody, master, but it is your call.”

The guard led the way into the enclave and turned right, leading them through a corridor made of what appeared to be animal skins. A wood slat door was lifted, and they turned left to enter a series of chambers at the center of which was a Sand Person in darker robes than the rest. The chieftain, Wren guessed.

Once they had all entered, the chieftain spoke. Even Wren, who couldn’t even begin to imagine what any of it meant, could tell one thing: he wasn’t happy to see them.

“Translation: I can translate with some degree of accuracy that he is demanding to know why he should let us survive this encounter, master.”

“Because if it comes to a fight he’ll be the one dying,” she muttered. “Don’t say that,” she added hastily. “Tell him we want to resolve this peacefully.”

HK sighed deeply. “Very well, Master.” He spoke to the chieftain for a moment, and the leader responded almost immediately.

“Translation: He claims to have no reason to believe you, master. Your kind have tainted this land with machines and uncaring, ignorant feet. He requires proof of good faith. You must make a contribution to his people that shows you are not a threat. Shall I blast him now, master?”

Wren shook her head, amused. “No, ask him what he wants.”

After a brief back and forth, the droid turned back to Wren. “Translation: He plans to move his people father from Anchorhead, but they must build up stores of water first. Translation: He wants moisture vaporators from the Czerka. If you deliver them, he will order his people to reduce their attacks on the miners.”

Wren grinned. “Tell him I’ll get his vaporators.”

After a brief exchange, HK returned his attention to her. “Translation: He does not believe you, master. However, we are to be escorted to the gates. He will wait, but he does not expect us to return.”

Flanked by four Sand People, Wren and the others were escorted to the gates of the Sand People compound. As they made their way out of the territory (once again taking care to avoid the mines) the guard patrols yelled at them.

Wren turned to HK. “Translation? Or do I want to know?”

“Recommendation: Probably not, master. I am certain you can get the idea without knowing exactly what it is they are shouting.”

She shrugged. “Point.”

Mission poked her in the arm. “We’re not going to have to go all the way back to Anchorhead for moisture vaporators, are we?” she pleaded.

Wren grinned as the others looked on, confused. “As it turns out, no. Just back to the sandcrawler.”

She led the way up into the belly of the machine, wandering a little bit until she remembered where the vaporators had been.

“What are moisture vaporators doing on a mining vessel?” Canderous asked, regarding them with suspicion.

“That’s what I was wondering,” said Wren. “Normally they’re used for outposts or farms, right? So I started thinking. What if Czerka isn’t just mining anymore? They’re desperate enough to get rid of the Sand People to start hiring random thugs off the street, right? So what if they were desperate enough to actually raise an army and invade?”

Canderous looked impressed. “You think they were planning on setting up some kind of army camp?”

Wren shrugged. “It’s a definite possibility. I mean, they could have just had the vaporators as backup in case their water supplies ran out, but somehow I don’t think water is in short supply on a vehicle like this. No, they were doing something out here, and it wasn’t all mining.”

She and Mission got to work disassembling the moisture vaporators, passing out the parts to be distributed among their bags. When that was done, she looked around once again. “Remind me to come back here—there’s a ton of stuff I could salvage and get some credits for.”

Bastila frowned, disapproving. “You’re talking about stealing.”

Wren shrugged, uncaring. “They’re the ones who abandoned the crawler. And plus, it’s Czerka, they can’t possibly have had honorable intentions.”

Probably realizing that arguing was fruitless, Bastila conceded the point.

Upon their return to the enclave, they were met once again with (Wren presumed) heckling from the guard patrols on the exterior, and the guard at the gate expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms.

“Extrapolation: This guard doesn’t appear honored to have the job of greeting us,” HK observed.

“No kidding,” Wren snorted. “Tell him we have the moisture vaporators.”

HK conveyed the message, listened, and said, “Translation: He will take us before the chieftain, as he was instructed to do. Musing: Perhaps this job is a punishment for him. He must have done something to displease the chieftain greatly.”

Wren laughed. “Of course. Well, let’s go then.”

They followed the guard back to the chieftain’s chambers. As they were greeted, Wren still couldn’t understand the chieftain’s words, but his body language registered an enormous amount of surprise at their return.

HK confirmed her suspicions. “Translation: He did not expect us to return, master. He wonders if we have brought the moisture vaporators.”

Wren nodded. “Tell him we have them.”

HK translated her statement. “Translation: He does not trust you, master, but you have done more than any other outsider. They will not attack us, and he grants you his chieftain’s gaffi as reward.”

Wren grinned broadly. “Excellent. That was going to be an awkward conversation. At least Czerka will believe me now.”

“Translation: The attacks will be reduced, and he will allow you to explore the enclave, but be warned that any lack of respect will result in death.”

Wren nodded. “Can you ask him about the Star Map?”

“Translation: He knows of what you speak. The ruins are far from here, in the Eastern Dune Sea. He will have his men bring you a map to show you the way.”

“Thank him for me, would you?”

HK transmitted the message. “Query: Is there anything else, master?”

“Ask him about prisoners.”

“Clarification: You will need to be more specific, master. They capture many organics.”

“The captive Jawas, then. And Mission’s brother.”

HK translated. The response took a bit longer than previous ones.

“Translation: He says the captive Jawas are slaves and have outlived their usefulness. You are free to take them. And the Twi’lek by his very presence defiles their home and land. He is worse than useless to them.”

Mission nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Extrapolation: I would assume we are free to take him, master. It is doubtful they will even waste the effort to kill him. Perhaps we could do it ourselves, master?”

Wren laughed. “That’s up to Mission. Tell him thank you and farewell for now.”

The chieftain spoke again. Wren looked at HK. “Translation: Night is rapidly approaching, master. He cannot offer much, but he will allow you and your companions to sleep in the prisoners’ quarters, if you wish to set out for the Eastern Dune Sea in the morning.”

“Thank him,” Wren instructed again. “Tell him we accept his gracious offer.”

A few unintelligible sentences later, HK spoke again. “Translation: We are free to leave.”

 __________________

They entered the cramped prisoners’ quarters just as the second sun dipped below the horizon. Six Jawas were currently occupying it, sitting morosely on the ground.

One of them looked up. **“You are not the ghostly giants that hold us trapped, the People of the Sand. You are from the old city new.”**

“Whatever that means,” Wren agreed. “Iziz sent me. The Sand People said you’re free to go. Will you make it to Anchorhead?”

**“Yes. There are thanks you must have. The Jawas under Iziz will reward in trade. Find him and you will see. Iziz will wait by the walls of your city that open to the sand. He will trade fair. Thank you.”**

The six rose from their positions on the ground and ran out of the enclave.  Wren and the others began to settle down, but from across the walkway came another voice.

“Hey! You out there! I’m, uh, a high-ranking executive in Czerka Corporation! There’s, uh, there’s a big reward out for my rescue! Let me out of here!”

Wren looked over at Mission, who rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

The others stayed behind as Wren and Mission stood, walked over to the wooden slat door, and pulled it open.

“Oh, thank you!” the Twi’lek man exclaimed. “I promise you, you won’t regret this! I—” He saw Mission. His eyes widened as he took a step closer. “Mission? Is that you? Joy of joys, my little sister is alive! When I heard about Taris, I thought…”

“Yeah…” said Mission. “Look, Griff, I have to ask you something. It’s important. I—I ran into Lena. She said it was _your_ idea to leave me behind on Taris. It’s not true, is it?”

Griff rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, there’s the truth and then there’s the _truth,_ see? I always meant to come back to Taris, sis, just as soon as we had the credits. But, well, credits have been hard to come by, and—”

“You mean it’s—it’s true?” Mission cried. “It _was_ your idea to leave me there? You abandoned me on Taris to _die!_ Your own sister!”

“Nah, c’mon, don’t be so dramatic, sis. I knew you could take care of yourself. Plus, you’re here now! Everything worked out fine, right?”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me after all these years after _deserting_ me on Taris?”

Griff rubbed the back of his neck again. “Well, uh, that, and uh… you look like you’re doing well. Uh, financially I mean. You, uh, couldn’t spare a few credits to get a guy back on his feet, could ya?”

Mission’s jaw dropped. “You’re hitting me up for credits? I don’t believe this! Lena was right about you! I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Griff! Ever!”

Griff seemed to flounder for words for a moment as Mission turned her back and stalked back over to the others. He turned to Wren. “Hm. That didn’t go well. Sis was always a little too fiery for her own good. She’ll cool down in time.”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. She’s smarter than you give her credit for, and I think she’s finally figured out you’re actually a scumbag. Speaking of, the Sand People told me your very presence is desecrating their land or something like that. Won’t even waste the effort to kill you. You can go.” She stepped closer and grabbed him by the collar, getting in his face. “But if you come near Mission again without her express permission, I swear I will expend the extra effort. Got it?”

Griff nodded quickly, eyes darting from side to side. “Uh-huh. I—I got it. Can I go now?” Wren released him roughly, and he dashed around her, out of the cell, and out of sight. Wren brushed off her hands before turning to the others. “Hey, on the plus side we have more space now.”

She moved her things to Griff’s cell, and Bastila and Mission joined her. Mission was asleep within minutes, but Bastila sat, leaning against one of the walls and hugging her knees.

Wren moved to sit beside her. “You all right?” she asked.

Bastila shook her head. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what seeing my mother again has done to me. I—she—we never got along when I was a girl. I loved my father, and he loved me, but mother… well, she claims it was different, but as I remember it, she pushed my father into treasure hunting. We’d move from planet to planet, trying to get rich everywhere we went. Most of the time we ended up barely scraping by. But then my mother gave me away to the Jedi. Father was heartbroken. I didn’t even think Mother cared… but she’s sought me out now, after all these years…”

“You said she wanted your father’s holocron?”

Bastila nodded. “His private thoughts. Having the holocron would be… almost like having him back with you. I…” She was silent for several moments, searching for words. “Do you ever struggle? To stay on the path of the light?”

Wren snorted out loud. “You’ve seen me, Bastila. What do you think?”

Bastila shook her head, agitated. “You have a sarcastic veneer, certainly, and your actions certainly reflect your own sense of justice, but… I do not believe I have ever seen you become truly vulnerable to the dark side.”

Wren looked at the ground, away from Bastila. “You weren’t there when I killed Juhani,” she said darkly.

“What happened?” Bastila asked quietly. “What _really_ happened? I know what you told the Council, but in your position, I suppose I would have done the same. Made it seem inevitable.”

Wren took a deep breath. “We were fighting. She’d… put Mission and Canderous in stasis, and we were fighting, and I think I was getting the upper hand… but then she went for Mission. Mission… afterward she said Juhani wouldn’t have hurt her. She could tell, somehow, I guess, but I didn’t know that. All I saw was her threatening my defenseless friend, and I—” She ducked her head in shame. “I pushed her back, I took three steps forward, and I stabbed her straight through the heart.” She sighed. “It may have been in the name of protection, but that… if that wasn’t the dark side, then…”

Bastila shook her head. “It may have been. I do not know. What I do know is that you’ve grown since then. So much so that when a few weeks ago you would have slaughtered the Sand People simply due to your own impatience, now you made the effort to negotiate with them and have come to a peaceful arrangement.” 

Wren huffed a laugh. “That was mostly out of spite. I’ll never do anything the way Czerka wants it done if I can help it.”

Bastila smiled. “You are… not what I expected. You’re brash, impatient, disrespectful… and yet, you’re still one of the most… _good_ people I’ve ever met. I was right to bring you aboard the _Endar Spire.”_

Something stirred in Wren’s memory. “Back on the _Spire,_ during the attack… there was a Jedi. I… I remember… I helped her kill a Dark Jedi, and she died in an explosion almost immediately afterwards, but… as she died she told me to tell you something. That… that you were right to bring me back, and that there was… hope.” Wren looked at Bastila. “What does that mean? I… I’ve barely thought of it since then, and back then I thought maybe she was just some run-of-the-mill crazy Jedi, but… something about it bothered me. It’s like that instinct at the back of my mind that’s telling me things, telling me that I shouldn’t trust the Jedi, telling me that somehow Taris was my fault, and… I don’t know, Bastila, I don’t know.”

Bastila shook her head vehemently. “Taris was not your responsibility.” She sighed deeply. “Malak destroyed Taris because of me. Because if he couldn’t capture me alive, he wanted to ensure that I ended up dead.”

“Hey. If that’s true, you’re no more responsible than I am. It was Malak. It’s always been Malak. Well… except back in the day when it was Revan, I guess.” She paused. “But really… that Jedi… what did she mean?”

Bastila looked troubled. “I… I don’t know. Samira could… sometimes see things beyond the scope of our vision. It may be she saw something of our bond, and through it, our hope for saving the galaxy. I cannot be sure.”

Wren nodded, not entirely satisfied, but willing to let the matter rest for the moment. Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or hostile, as it had always been before. Just… peaceful.

After several minutes, Wren spoke again. “About your mother…” Bastila looked up. “I may sound like a gigantic hypocrite for saying it, but remember the Jedi Code. I… I know you find peace in it, so draw on that. Let go of the decades-old resentment, and try to see her as she is. You don’t have to make a decision now, or tomorrow, or at all, until we get back to Anchorhead. But your resentment, your anger… gives her power over you. She may not use it, she may not even know she has it, but it does. Don’t give her that power. Don’t let yourself be ruled by someone else’s actions.”

Bastila laughed a little, quietly, sadly. “You never were one to let others have power over you. If you know nothing else, you’ll be an expert on that.”

“So listen to me.” Bastila nodded. “And also… I wanted to say I’m sorry. For… how I’ve treated you. I just… it’s like I told you, this instinct, living somewhere in the base of my skull and the pit of my stomach… and most of the time it’s right. Some part of it may be the Force, but I think it’s more than that. And it… doesn’t trust the Jedi. Any of them. Ever. Like… like they’re masking some great evil or something. But you… I was wrong about you. Heh. I thought you were a prissy little bitch, honestly.”

Bastila laughed out loud before cutting herself off quickly with an apologetic glance at Mission. “Given our first encounter, I can hardly blame you. But thank you. I appreciate it. And… I don’t know what it is that’s causing you to distrust the Jedi, but I hope that I, at least, can help change your mind.” Was Wren imagining it, or was Bastila avoiding eye contact? She certainly felt a sense of discomfort that wasn’t her own…

“Bastila? Are you okay?”

She sighed deeply, her face looking stricken. “I wish I could tell you. For the moment, we should rest. We have a not insignificant journey ahead of us, and I have a feeling our struggles have only just begun.”

“Right.” She paused. “Good night, Bastila.”

“Good night, Wren.”


	15. It's Multiple Traps, Actually

Wren woke just as the sky was beginning to lighten and hastened to wake the others.

“Wha… Wren, it’s the middle of the night,” Mission complained.

“No it’s not,” Wren corrected. “It’s almost morning, and the sooner we get started, the less walking we’ll have to do in the burning heat of binary suns.”

“Good point,” said Mission, suddenly alert.

The stars had mostly been obscured by the time they set out, thanking the Sand People one last time through HK. Wren pulled out the map she’d been given.

“It’s a bit crude,” she said, “but it looks like it’s going by landmarks. Rock formations and such. Like, look, see that one?” She pointed to a rock formation in the distance. “That’s here.” She pointed it out on the map.

Mission groaned. “This is gonna take hours.”

She wasn’t wrong. The only good thing about it was that they didn’t get lost. The map, though hand-drawn by Sand People, was surprisingly accurate, and the representations of the rock landmarks were depicted very well.

Still, they were all exhausted as they passed by the last landmark, crested a dune, and first set eyes on the Star Map’s excavation. Wren stared for a few moments, squinted, and pulled out a pair of binoculars.

“There’s someone down there,” she said after a moment. “Two of them. Can’t make out who they are, but…”

“Might as well check it out,” said Canderous. Of all of them, he was the least affected by the conditions, so he took the lead down the dune and due east toward the cave. As they neared it, he stopped, took the binoculars from Wren, and peered once again at the figures. “It’s that Twi’lek I met in the lodge,” he said after a moment. “He’s got a human with him… well, he did.”

“What?” Wren asked. “What do you mean he did?”

“Well, the human decided it was a good idea to go running into the lair of a krayt dragon,” Canderous said. “No way he’s still alive after that.”

“So this is the krayt dragon lair?” Wren asked him.

He shrugged. “It must be, if he’s here. That’s what he said his next hunt would be.”

Wren nodded. “Good enough for me. Let’s go talk to him. If he’s hunting the dragon, he’ll have a way to kill it, and we can get in to access the Star Map without having to sneak around a man-eating lizard.”

They approached the Twi’lek, Canderous still in the lead. As his attention was drawn to them, the Twi’lek straightened up, obviously recognizing Canderous. **“Greetings to you, human. I believe I saw you in Anchorhead. I thought I might see you on the dunes. You look like a hunter.”**

Canderous nodded respectfully. “I’d like to introduce you to my boss.” He gestured to Wren, who regarded him with surprise for a moment before stepping forward.

“I heard about you from Canderous,” she said. “You sound like an honorable hunter. Wren Grua,” she added, holding out a hand.

The Twi’lek shook it. **“A pleasure to meet you, Wren Grua. I am Komad Fortuna. Today I have tracked a very special beast to its lair. Perhaps you are interested in aiding my hunt?”**

“If you’re referring to the krayt dragon, by all means,” Wren said. “I have reason to believe that there’s an ancient artifact in there, and hunting the dragon would suit my needs nicely. How do you propose we take it on?”

**“We must use unorthodox means today, I am afraid. The beast has come too close to Anchorhead and could soon be a threat to the settlers or even the Sand People. Nevertheless, to hunt such a creature is a great honor.”**

“Why do you need our help, then?” Wren asked.

**“A valid question. This fight will be critical. Bull dragons such as this one are rare. Even rarer is the apparent size of this one. As you can see, my hunting companion lost his patience with the hunt and has suffered the consequences. And yet, here you are. The desert supplies all.”**

“Okay, so what’s the plan?”

**“We must bait the great beast out of hiding and ambush him swiftly. There is no room to engage him in the lair, and his hide will repel blaster fire. I have placed mines around the mouth of the cave. We must coax him out, but as this is his season of hibernation, it will take much to accomplish it.”**

“Food?” Wren suggested. “That works on most people.”

**“Indeed, human, you speak the truth. The preferred food of the krayt dragon is almost exclusively banthas… and foolish hunters, if we are not careful. There are herds nearby, but you must lure them here in turn. They will react to the smell of bantha fodder. If you find fodder and bait the banthas here, the mines will deal with the dragon as it emerges to feed. Not exactly a glorious hunt, but it will ensure the safety of the region.”**

Wren closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “Anyone have any bantha fodder on them?”

She was met with silence. “Of course not,” she said. “That would just be too easy now, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually…” Mission rummaged in her bag. “This?” She pulled out a small sack and held it out to Komad.

**“Yes, that is it. It seems that your companion has bantha fodder with her, Wren Grua, though why I cannot imagine.”**

Mission shrugged. “I maaaaay have taken it from the Sand People.” Everyone looked at her. “What? Banthas are cute,” she defended herself. “They deserve to be fed.”

Wren rolled her eyes fondly. “Since your kleptomania has led to us not having to go all the way back to the enclave to get some bantha fodder, I won’t object. This time. But if they’d seen you, they’d have killed us all!”

Mission snorted. “Please. I’ve seen you fight. You’d have killed all of them before they even put a scratch on you.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Wren scolded. She turned back to Komad. “This seems awfully simple. If it was that easy, you’d have done it yourself. So what’s the issue?”

Komad sighed. **“There is one additional threat. The Sand People regard the banthas as sacred. Any attempt to feed the herds in the area will likely lead to an attack.”**

Wren shrugged. “So? I’ve fought them before, they’re not that difficult to deal with.”

Komad shook his head. **“We are far from the weakened tribes around Anchorhead. Those who have been pestering Czerka Corporation are but so many harmless insects compared to these tribes. They will think nothing of killing you. Be careful.”**

“All right. I’ll be back with some banthas.”

A herd of banthas was milling around near the base of a nearby dune. Wren took the fodder from Mission and approached them, holding it out. One bantha approached, quickly followed by three more.

Unfortunately, this also drew the attention of the five Sand People who appeared to be herding the creatures.

_“Damn,”_ Wren muttered, preparing for another melee fight.

That’s when she saw the grenade. Seizing Mission around the waist, she tackled her to one side, shielding her as the grenade exploded far too close to where she’d been standing.

“So, they have grenades!” she called unnecessarily to the others.

“Thanks for the heads-up!” Canderous called back sarcastically from amidst the sticky residue of an adhesive grenade. Giving up on the struggle, he turned his blaster rifle on the nearest warrior, taking it down in four charged blasts. Bastila slipped past the defenses of another with the aid of Force speed, slicing it cleanly in half. Mission distracted another in melee combat while Carth fired on it, taking it down in a rapid burst of blaster bolts.

Wren engaged the fourth with her usual lightsaber/ blaster distraction tactic. It seemed to be working—that is, until her opponent turned out to be smarter than half a dozen dark Jedi and kicked her in the shins. She stumbled backwards, and the gaffi stick swung down, grazing her side even as she dodged.

Wren stumbled again, raising her lightsaber in time to block the incoming overhead strike from the gaffi stick, managing to shove her opponent back enough to get in a kick of her own. Hers was accompanied by a jolt of Force, though, and the Sand Person went flying—landing directly at the feet of HK-47, who took all too much pleasure in blasting its head full of holes.

Bastila was at Wren’s side first. “What happened? I felt your wound, dimly, are you all right?”

Wren nodded. “Just a scratch. It’ll heal soon enough, as long as I don’t get sand in it.” She made a face.

Bastila stepped closer. “Here.” She placed a hand over the wound and closed her eyes. The same glow that Wren had seen around Jolee when he’d been healing that Wookiee in the Shadowlands faded into being around her. The pain diminished and then faded entirely along with the glow. “Let us return to the cave,” Bastila suggested with a smile at Wren’s evident surprise.  

Komad was waiting exactly where they’d left him as they headed toward the cave entrance, four banthas following behind Wren. Stopping for a moment, Wren spread the bag of fodder over the ground, and the banthas quickly gathered around it, eating, oblivious to their impending doom.

**“Well done,”** Komad congratulated. **“The banthas are in position and will soon stir our restless prey. Let us hope the mines do their job.”**

“I’m ready if they don’t,” Wren said, hand on her lightsaber.

**“Let us hope it does not come to that. Wait a moment…”** Komad turned as a rumbling growl that sounded more like thunder echoed from the mouth of the cave. **“Oh, my, he’s a big one!”** Awe and fear mixed evenly in the Twi’lek’s voice as he watched the dragon emerge.

‘A big one’ was just about the biggest understatement Wren had ever heard. The dragon was enormous—one of its legs was at least three times as big around as her entire torso. She would barely have come up to its knees if she stood directly beside it. Its jaws opened wide—big enough to eat a bantha in a bite or two. A human would barely make a light snack.

The dragon stomped deliberately out of the cave, eyes fixed on the banthas. Then—

One explosion. Two. The dragon shook them off, slightly perturbed, but not hindered in any way. Three. Four. Five. Six. It roared as it drew ever closer to the banthas.

“It’s not going to be enough…” Wren murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Deciding it was better to risk her own life trying to pull this off than to risk everyone else’s by not doing anything, she dropped her bag in the sand and ran, directly toward the banthas. She could hear voices calling her name but she didn’t listen, reaching for her belt as she ran. As she reached the small herd, she leaped upwards, assisted by the Force, and landed on the back of one of the banthas. Two more explosions and the dragon was practically on top of them. As it roared one more time, however, Wren pulled out the grenade she had clasped in her hand, pressed down on the trigger, and tossed it into the dragon’s open mouth.

Two and a half seconds later, it exploded, and the dragon keeled over with a final roar of pain. Wren shuddered, jumping down from the bantha and gagging. “Ugh,” she complained. “And I thought the damn sewers smelled bad.”

Carth was at her side moments later, the others close behind. “What the hell were you thinking?” He was already checking her for injuries before he’d finished the question.

Wren met his gaze defiantly. “Someone had to do something,” she insisted. “Or it would’ve killed _all_ of us. And if someone’s going to be stupid and reckless it might as well be me.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Mission put in brightly.  

Carth ignored her, already reaching into his pack to pull out a medpac, treating the minor burns she’d picked up from being too close to an explosion.

**“She speaks the truth,”** said Komad, coming up behind the group. **“The mines I placed were insufficient for the size of the dragon. Without her intervention, we all surely would have perished.”** He bowed his head. **“I humbly thank you for risking your life on our behalf,”** he said to Wren.

She shrugged. “Not like it’s the first time. And I figured if I was going to get eaten by a dragon, I might as well go down fighting.” She turned back to the others. “All right, kids, we’ve got a mission. Let’s get the Star Map and head back.” Not waiting for a response, she turned and headed into the mouth of the cave.

It was blissfully cool and dark within, but it felt… _wrong,_ somehow. Wren suspected it had something to do with the presence of the Star Map. Some of the others stopped to search the corpses and skeletons within the cave, probably hoping to find valuables, but Wren continued straight to the back, almost in a daze. She could see it now… the Star Map… the bones… the shattered fragments of statues and whatever else surrounding it. Even as she approached, the claw opened, welcoming her back…

“Grua!”

She snapped out of it, turning to see Canderous coming up behind her. “Jedi princess found her father. And we’ve got bigger problems. You’d better get that data, quick.”

“What sort of problems?” she asked, drawing out her datapad and copying the data.

“That Twi’lek ran in here a few seconds ago, saying that some speeders pulled up outside. Everyone retreated from the entrance, but I decided to check it out.” Wren finished gathering the data and looked up into Canderous’ face just in time for him to say, “It’s Calo Nord.”

Wren dropped her datapad. Fortunately, close to the ground as it was, it remained intact. She picked it up hastily, staring disbelievingly at Canderous. “He was—”

“I know. But he’s here. I’d know him anywhere.”

“Careful, Canderous, that almost sounds romantic,” Wren joked. At the look on his face, she quickly added, “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Anyway, at least this way you get the chance to kill him in a fair fight.”

Canderous hefted his blaster rifle. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Wren stuffed her datapad back into her bag and walked with Canderous toward the mouth of the cave. The others met them there.

“Komad, stay in here,” Wren instructed. “The rest of you, come on. We’ve got a bounty hunter to kill. And do not, under any circumstances, underestimate him. He’s a tricky bastard. In fact, better if you don’t fight him at all. Focus on his entourage, Canderous and I will fight Calo. We’ll go out first; once the fight starts, you four follow. Clear?”

Everyone nodded. 

“All right. Canderous?” He nodded, and they walked out of the cave side by side.

Calo waited until they were within shouting distance, then called out, “I have to give you credit. You’ve led me on quite a chase. But nobody gets away from Calo Nord in the end.”

Wren snorted. 

“You got lucky on Taris,” Calo continued, heedless. “The Sith attack saved you from a quick and gruesome death. But I promise you, the Sith won’t be getting in my way this time.”

Wren looked at Canderous. “Could he _be_ any dumber?”

“I doubt it,” Canderous replied.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. See, as I recall, when we were on Taris, right before he was…” She counted them off on her fingers, “...almost hit by a massive laser, crushed by falling rubble, and caught in the middle of planetwide destruction… he was saying something about ‘if I’m going down I’m taking all of you with me.’ Implying that _he_ was the one who was about to die, not me. Correct me if I’m wrong, of course.”

Canderous shook his head, frowning in mock-thoughtfulness. “Nope. Sounds about right to me.”

“So, with that in mind, Calo, I’ve got a question for you. Any last requests?”

In response, Calo Nord just drew his blasters and started firing. Wren was ready for it. Her lightsaber was out and deflecting blaster bolts in less than a second. This was what she’d been training for, all those hours in the cargo hold. With a Force-assisted leap, she landed directly in front of Calo, who quickly slammed a button on his wrist. An energy shield flared to life around him.

Wren frowned and raised an eyebrow simultaneously. “Not bad. But not good enough.” With a flick of her wrist, Calo was lifted off the ground, encased in a Force whirlwind, revolving quickly as Canderous continued to fire.

Wren took one step to the side and impaled a Rodian with her lightsaber. He had been distracted by his firefight with HK, much to his disadvantage. Bastila had engaged another of the guards, who’d been forced to pull out a vibroblade to block her lightsaber attacks. She had it under control.

Mission and Carth had teamed up again, and they took down another of Calo’s thugs even as Wren looked over at them. The fourth thug was rapidly engaged by HK-47, who was all too eager to participate in the mayhem.

Wren turned back toward Calo as Bastila shoved her opponent’s sword out of the way and ran him through. The whirlwind had dissipated, and now Calo and Canderous were engaged in a vicious-looking firefight. Both still had energy shields operating. Both looked relatively unhurt.

Struck by an idea, Wren took a few steps to the side so she was out of Calo’s line of sight and turned on her stealth generator. In her peripheral vision, the last of Calo’s thugs fell to Mission’s sword. She crept up behind the bounty hunter, reaching for his left arm and the energy shield.

In one fluid motion, she seized his wrist with one hand and slammed the button on the energy shield with the other. She took an elbow to the gut for her trouble and stumbled backwards, winded, but it was worth it. The shield flickered out just as Canderous fired two successive charged blasts with his rifle. Both hit Calo Nord in the chest and he fell backwards as Wren stepped out of the way.

“Shall we burn the body?” she joked as the others gathered around. “You know, in case he decides to come back?”

Canderous stepped up beside the body of his rival, firing several extra shots into his torso. “He’s not coming back,” he said decisively.

“Good,” said Wren. “He’s caused enough trouble as it is. We should get back to Anchorhead.”

“You have the Star Map?” Bastila asked.

“Yeah. And you? You found…”

“My father, yes. I… have the holocron. I still haven’t decided what to do with it, but…”

Wren nodded. “You’ll know.”

Komad Fortuna emerged from the krayt dragon’s cave. **“You should take these speeders, human. I shall remain to honor the memory of the krayt dragon. When I return to Anchorhead, you shall have your reward.”**

“You don’t have to do that, Komad.”

**“I insist. You risked your life for this hunt. You deserve some reward.”**

Wren bowed her head with a smile. “Very well, then. I’ll see you back in Anchorhead, Komad.”

**“It has been an honor, Wren Grua.”**

“Likewise. Good luck.” She turned to the crew. “Three per speeder. Leave the bike for Komad.”

Canderous, Mission, and HK took one speeder, Bastila, Wren, and Carth the other.

“Hey, can we stop by those Sand People corpses we killed?” Wren asked as Carth started the engine.

“What for?” he asked, confused. “You forget to loot them?”

“Well, sort of. Gaffi sticks. Czerka promised me a bounty for each stick I bring back. They don’t need to know that these are from a different tribe. Oh, and also if we could stop by the sandcrawler on the  way back too, that’d be great. I left some salvage in there that I’d like to sell, and there are gaffi sticks on the Sand People we killed there too, presumably.”

“You’re a little casual for someone who could’ve died just now,” Carth noted.

Wren’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“The krayt dragon, remember? What did you think I was talking about?”

“Oh, right. Apparently I can only process one fight at a time or something. I was thinking of Calo Nord.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that myself. How did he survive Taris? An entire ceiling fell on him, from what you’ve said. And even after that, the whole planet was destroyed.”

Wren shrugged a shoulder. “I guess he’s tougher than I gave him credit for. Or he’s uncannily lucky. My guess would be that Davik had another, slightly less superior ship that he stole to escape on. I’d love to know the details, but we just killed the only one who could’ve told us, so we’ll have to live with guessing.”

Once the gaffi sticks and the salvage were collected, they turned the speeders toward Anchorhead. “Hold a moment!” Bastila called.

“What?” Wren asked, turning around.

“There’s someone out there,” the Jedi responded, pointing. Indeed, when Carth and Canderous had turned the speeders off, a voice could be clearly heard across the dunes.

“Anybody out there? Can you help? I seem to be, ah, doomed!”

Both eyebrows raised, Wren slowly turned back to Bastila. “You _sure_ you want to help him?”

Bastila gave her a look. “I am a Jedi. It is my duty to help those in need.”

“Even if those in need are cheating scum.”

“Even then.”

Wren sighed. “All right. Let’s go see what his ingenious wife did to him.”

Tanis Venn was standing in the middle of four droids, which seemed to have encountered some kind of elaborate glitch. “Hey there, thanks for stopping,” he said as the speeders pulled up. “I’ve been stuck without water for hours. Wasn’t looking good.” He caught sight of Wren. “Heyyy, I remember you. Talk about answered prayers!”

Carth cleared his throat loudly.

“How can we help you?” Bastila asked in an attempt to distract him.

It didn’t work. Tanis’ attention shifted to her. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new to Anchorhead too? Once you get me out of here, look me up sometime.”

Bastila gave him a disdainful look. “Wren, perhaps you were right.” She turned back to Tanis. “Your wife says hello.”

“I’ll bet she does,” Tanis grumbled. “She’s decided I’ve finally worn out my welcome and she’s fixed my droids to do her dirty work. I triggered some kind of trap she programmed. I guess she figured I wouldn’t be smart enough to get out. Eh… she was right.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Wren asked.

Tanis shrugged halfheartedly. “Can’t help you much. I don’t program the droids, she does. But they’re in some sort of discharge loop. If I move from this spot, they’re threatening to blow up! Can you try to do some repairs or something?”

“Wren, you were right after all,” Bastila decided. “I say leave him.”

“You’re pretty heartless for such a pretty lady, you know?”

“I take it back. Let’s congratulate his wife.”

Wren snorted with laughter as Tanis started looking more and more desperate. “I’d, uh, really appreciate a bit of help? Please?”

Wren waved a hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll see what I can do.” She stepped up to each droid in turn, accessing their repair functions. She snorted again. “She called the program ‘Slimeball Must Die,’” she informed the others. “Not particularly creative, but it gets the point across. Hey, Tanis, maybe if you actually checked your droids’ programming you’d have noticed this. It’s not like it’s particularly hidden or anything. I guess Marlena knew you wouldn’t check and didn’t bother, hm?”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t need a lecture, I’m already stuck out here without water. Just get me out of here, please?”

Still chuckling, Wren went around to each of the droids, deactivating the program. When each droid had returned to normal, she turned back to Tanis. “Happy?”

“Whew,” he sighed in relief. “That was… unpleasant. Thanks for your help. I’d have been a goner.”

“Too right,” Wren agreed.

“Now, my dear lady, I must see to your reward,” Tanis insisted. “Will, uh, earthly delights suffice?”

Without even a change of expression, Wren commented offhandedly, “You know, I could always just turn the program back on…”

“Eh… I suppose not,” Tanis retracted. “Fine, fine, take this.” He handed her 200 credits. “I’m heading back to the shop. Thanks again!”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Wren grumbled as he ran off. “Ugh. Happy, Bastila?”

She shrugged. “I’m still not even certain we should have saved him.”

“What happened to it being a Jedi’s duty to help everyone in need, even if they’re scum?”

“I changed my mind,” Bastila replied. “I didn’t quite believe the extent to which he was scum, you see.”

Wren laughed. “You know, you’re not half bad for a Jedi. Let’s get back to Anchorhead, shall we?”

______________________ 

Inside the gates, Wren started delegating. “Mission, Canderous, sell that salvage to Iziz and make sure his people got back okay. Carth, take HK with you and get the bounties for the gaffi sticks.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out the chieftain’s. “This one too. I’ll go with Bastila.”

Bastila turned to her, eyes wide. “You would do that?”

“Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I—I’m glad, I just… wasn’t expecting… Thank you.”

Wren nodded before turning back to the others. “Meet back at the ship as soon as you’re done.”

Mission raised her hand. “Can I have the first shower?”

Wren smirked. “First come, first serve. Everyone go.”

Everyone hurried off to complete their respective tasks as Wren and Bastila turned toward the cantina.

“Do you know what you’re going to do with it yet?” Wren asked quietly.

Bastila shook her head. “I… I’ll talk to her. See what she has to say.”

Wren nodded approvingly. “Sensible.”

They stepped inside, and Bastila led the way to the opposite corner where a woman was sitting. “Back already?” she said in lieu of greeting. “Have you even looked yet?”

Bastila turned to Wren, exhaling sharply. “You see? Not even so much as a ‘hello.’” She turned back to her mother. “Hello, mother. How are you feeling?”

“Let’s dispense with the meaningless pleasantries and get to the point,” the woman insisted.

Wren raised her eyebrows. “You might not like hearing this, Bastila, but I see where you get your attitude from,” she remarked.

Bastila opened her mouth as though to say something, then apparently decided against it. She returned her attention to her mother. “I have the holocron, mother, I’m just not sure I want to give it to you.”

“And why not? Would you deny me even that?”

“I never denied you anything, mother. You may not think I remember what it was like before I left for the Order but I do. You were the one who pushed father into going on one treasure hunt after another. You _loved_ living in wealth. You think I don’t remember the fights? You were eager to send me to the Jedi even though I didn’t want to go. _You_ took father away from me, and now this holocron is all I have of him.”

“Fool girl!” Bastila’s mother put her hands on her hips. “You have a strange way of remembering things. That wasn’t—”

Bastila held up a hand. “No. I don’t wish to argue with you anymore, mother. It’s time we parted ways now, for both our benefit.”

Wren took a deep breath. “I’m not usually one to interfere in family affairs,” she began, “but maybe you both should take a moment and listen to each other.”

“You don’t know my mother,” Bastila insisted. “She is notoriously deceptive when she wants something, why should she have the holocron?”

“Is it so difficult to believe that I am a dying woman who simply wishes to see her husband one last time?”

“I find it difficult to believe anything you say, mother.”

Wren sighed. “Needless to say, this is going nowhere. Maybe one of you should be the first to give the other a break? What harm could it possibly do, other than to your pride?”

Bastila gave a frustrated sigh. “You’re right. Again. It… shames me, but I find it difficult to let go of the past. I’m… sorry, mother.”

Her mother smiled sadly. “I was hard on you, dear. I wasn’t a very good mother to you. I know that. Your father loved you so. He wanted you to be just like him. He wanted to take you on his hunts, but I said they were too dangerous.”

Wren inclined her head. “Having been almost eaten by a krayt dragon in the past few hours, I can speak to that.”

The woman looked startled. “What have you been _doing_ while you’ve been gone?”

Bastila sighed. “It doesn’t matter, mother.”

“I’m beginning to find that it _does,_ actually,” her mother corrected. “Did you really face a krayt dragon to get the holocron?”

“The objective of our current mission was also in the krayt dragon’s lair. Do not worry, mother, we were in no unnecessary danger.”

“Well that’s… comforting, I suppose. I always tried to keep your father from the more dangerous ones, but he would have none of it. It was a reckless life we lived, always moving. I didn’t want that for you.”

Revelation dawned on Bastila’s face. “So that’s why you gave me to the Order?”

She nodded. “What do your father and I have to show for all those years of hunting? Nothing! That was no life for anyone, especially not someone as gifted as you. Your father… he spent all his last years trying to pay for my treatments. That’s why he went after the pearls. I begged him not to, but—”

“Your treatments?” Bastila asked. “So you really are sick?”

She nodded. “I am dying, Bastila. I did not lie about that. It’s been a long time coming, and there’s really nothing that can be done anymore. I told your father to let me go, but you know how he was. Stubborn, like you.”

Bastila slumped, eyes on the floor. “I’m so sorry, mother. I don’t know what to say.”

The woman patted her on the shoulder. “Keep the holocron, dear. It would do me good to know you have it. This… talking to you… this is what I really needed before I—”

Bastila smiled a little. “I know. Thank you. I’m… glad we talked too.”

She cleared her throat. “Well now. You said you had important business, and you were never one to mince words. You there!” She turned to Wren. “You take care of my daughter, you hear me?”

Wren smiled. “I’ll do everything I can,” she promised.

“That’s good.” Her mother nodded. “I’ll feel a lot better knowing there’s someone to watch out for her.”

“Where are you going to go?” Bastila asked.

Wren slipped away. They needed this moment, and she had just spotted Komad Fortuna walking in the cantina door.

**“Ah! There you are, human,”** he greeted her. **“I sought you out to give you this.”** He held up a gleaming white pearl the size of Wren’s fist.

Her jaw dropped. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Are—are you sure?”

**“Of course, human. It is the least I can do to repay you for your aid.”**

“Thank you again, Komad,” she replied. He bowed his head and exited the cantina.

“Please,” Bastila was saying to her mother as Wren rejoined the conversation. “I… I’d like to see you again, once I—once we do what we have to do.”

Wren glanced between them before speaking up. “Ms. Shan, I… I have something I’d like you to have,” she said. “This, I believe, is what your husband was after.” She held out the pearl.

Bastila and her mother both stared at it. “Oh, I—I couldn’t—” she started to refuse.

Wren shook her head. “I insist. I have no particular use for it, and I’m sure Bastila would want you to have it as well.” She looked to her companion for confirmation. Bastila nodded.

“Father couldn’t bring it to you, so now we have.”

Bastila’s mother took the pearl, cradling it in her hands. “I… I don’t know how to thank you for this,” she said to Wren. “Might I at least know your name?”

Wren smiled and held out her hand. “Padawan Wren Grua, at your service.”

“Helena Shan,” she replied, shaking Wren’s hand. “You’re… you’re a Jedi as well, then?”

Wren shot half a glance at Bastila, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes. I’ll make sure Bastila comes back alive if there’s _anything_ I can do about it. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Helena squeezed Wren’s hand before letting go. “Bastila, you go do what you have to. Make your father and I proud.”

Bastila smiled a little shyly. “I’ll try,” she said. “Farewell, mother.”

“Goodbye, Bastila.”

Wren nodded to Helena as they turned, leaving the cantina. “Feel better now?” she asked when the door had shut behind them.

Bastila took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I think I do. That brought me a lot of peace. More than I thought it would have. You… you were right.”

Wren smiled sideways at her. “Which time?”

Bastila laughed for a moment before replying. “When you said that my anger was giving her power over me. When I let it go… we were on even ground. And from there, we could find peace.”

“I’m glad,” Wren said sincerely.

Bastila blew out a breath. “After all my training, I’d have thought that would have been easier. It seems I still have much to learn.”

Wren shrugged. “We all do.” She paused for a moment. “I meant what I said, you know. I’ll get you through this if it kills me.”

Bastila tipped her head to one side. “What changed?”

Wren gave a tight smile. “You’re not just a Jedi anymore. You’re a person.”

Thankfully, Bastila understood. She smiled. “I’m glad. I… admit, I had trouble even imagining you had a sensitive side, and yet…”

“We’re going to need each other,” said Wren. “If we’re making it through this alive, we’re going to have to start helping each other.”

“I think we can agree on that,” said Bastila. “Let us return to the ship. Perhaps now we can leave this planet in peace.”

Not quite. As they made their way through the streets, Wren accidentally bumped into a Twi’lek man.

“Sorry!” she cried.

He turned, and his eyes darted to the ground, where he spotted a datapad. **“I believe you dropped this, human,”** he said, picking it up and holding it out to her. 

“I don’t think I—”

**“I am certain you did,”** he insisted. **“Take it. You should check to make sure it is not broken.”**

Wren shrugged and tucked it away, heading once again for the spaceport with Bastila.

It was only hours later, after she had showered and settled into the bunk room shortly after entering hyperspace, that she remembered it was there. She pulled it out and switched it on.

On the main screen were two cryptic sentences: _The Genoharadan say to see Hulas on Manaan. Come alone or not at all._


	16. Twelve Percent of a Plan

“Got something on your mind, do you?” Jolee didn’t even turn around as Wren stepped into the medbay and leaned against a wall.

“Maybe.”

“I assume it’s more of your endless questions, and not an injury you’ve somehow managed to pick up walking between the galley and the cockpit?”

She smirked. “You assume correctly. Old man.”

He _harrumphed._ “So, out with it, I don’t have all day, you know.”

“Actually you sort of _do._ But all right, if you insist. Why did you leave the Jedi?”

He gave her a strange look. “Who says I left the Jedi?”

“You did. Well, you said you weren’t a Jedi anymore, so I thought…”

“Well, technically I was only a Padawan. Not that that makes any difference to most. As for the order itself, though… no, I never left it. It left _me._ ”

She frowned. “All right, you’re gonna have to explain that one.”

He looked thoughtful for a few moments before he spoke again. “You know what I hate? Well, you know, lots of things, really. But I’m old and easily annoyed. But that’s beside the point; what I _really_ hate is how most people view the Jedi. Everyone thinks that the Jedi are perfect, that they can do no wrong. They think the Jedi Council is completely incapable of injustice.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever agreed with you more.”

He huffed. “Good. There’s hope for you yet. The Jedi are just as capable of injustice as anyone else. They may _try_ harder, sure, but sometimes they get it wrong. And I’m not even talking about how some of us fall to the dark side. No, that’s plenty enough indication of our fallibility, but it’s something else entirely. I’m talking about how more often than not, your average robe-wearing Jedi can try to do the right thing and still be completely _wrong._ ”

She raised an eyebrow. “If this were just about anyone else, I might pretend I’m not eagerly jumping at the chance for proof that my suspicions about the Jedi aren’t unfounded. But since it’s you… what did the Jedi do that gave you that idea?”

Instead of laughing, as she’d expected, his face fell a little and he sighed. “I suppose I’m not being very clear, am I? Come to think of it, I don’t have to be clear! Someone my age is entitled to ramble, damn it! But for your sake, I’ll try to explain. I’ll tell you a tale about a Jedi Master I once knew. Hortath, I think. Or was it Hartoth? I could never get it straight.”

She stepped into the room and sat on the cot. “If this is anything like the rest of your stories, I’d better get comfortable.”

“If I’m required to listen to all you young people and your endless questions, you’ll listen to my stories, damn it! Where was I? Oh, yes. Master Hortath. He was a kindly old Jedi who meant well, but the most near-sighted thing in the Core, I swear. He would walk into walls, knock over tables, mistake apprentices for rancor beasts, that sort of thing. And he was too proud to submit to proper treatment. Some used to counsel him and urged, ‘Use the Force, Master Hortath. Allow the Force to see for you.’ But he refused to believe that his eyes were failing. He simply squinted more and more as the years went on, the other Jedi resignedly passing it off as the amusing quirk of a compassionate old man.” He paused for breath.

“This is going to have a point, isn’t it?”

He waved a hand impatiently. “Hush, you! Anyway. So, one day a young Padawan meets Master Hortath in the courtyard, and not knowing of his blindness, asks him for directions to the Council. Quite sure of himself, Hortath gave the lad directions, which happened to lead back outside and away from the enclave. The Padawan is confused, naturally. He asks if Master Hortath is sure, and of course Master Hortath says that he is. The Padawan suggests that perhaps he should ask someone else… but the proud Hortath now feels insulted. He tells he Padawan to take the route he prescribed and no other. Rather dejectedly, the Padawan did as he was told, and so ended up leaving the Jedi Order forever.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“The tale is about blindness, and I thought the point was clear. At any rate, you think about it. You’re the one who asked why the Jedi left me, remember?”

“Of course. I should have known better than to ask you for a straight answer. So what about the Sith, then?”

“What about them?”

“What do you _know_ about them? We’re heading to Korriban, after all, I could use your expertise.”

He huffed. “Bad, bad men. Women too, to be fair.” He gave her a long look. “And who says I have any expertise?”

“You did. You said you fought them.”

He deflated a little. “Oh, that’s right. Damn the ears of the young. I was expecting you to be your usual inattentive self when I mentioned that. So it’s true, yes. I’ve fought plenty of Sith. This was during the time of Exar Kun, oh, forty years ago, now? Has it been that long?”

“Have the Sith changed much in that time?”

“The Sith come and go. Oh, there are times when the light comes close to vanquishing the dark, but the dark always returns. Sometimes they’re called Sith, sometimes not, but in essentials, at least in the time I’ve been alive, they’re pretty much the same. The Sith believe they command the Force… but it is the dark side which commands _them._ Surely the Jedi at least told you that much. There is little else I can add.”

“So tell me about Exar Kun.”

“Ah. Exar was a Jedi who was… corrupted… by ghosts of the old Sith. Or so they say. He attempted to conquer the Republic and create a new Golden Age of the Sith.”

“I assume he was eventually killed?”

“Better to say he was defeated, but essentially, yes. The victory did not come easily, however.”

“What happened?”

“That… is not a pleasant time to remember. After Exar Kun fell to the dark side, he attempted to recruit other Jedi to his cause. What surprised us… what took us completely unprepared… was how utterly successful he was. Many Jedi joined him and became Sith, themselves. Why they did, I… will never truly know. But they did. Battle broke out throughout the order, pupil against master. We fought ourselves…”

A sudden image flashed through Wren’s mind of Mission wielding a red lightsaber, trying to kill her, her eyes cold and merciless. “That… can’t have been easy,” she said carefully.

“Yes. It was… more than difficult. Next to impossible. How do you fight against someone you love?” He looked away, his face falling again. “I dislike such memories. It leaves a taste in the mouth that… it is a sadness I thought I had put aside long ago. Ask me about the war some other time, just… not now. I would prefer to be by myself for now.”

She nodded slowly, not bothering to disguise her concern, but he waved her off. She left the medbay, thoughts buzzing in her head, not least of which was the realization that Jolee might not be so untouchable as he would have them believe.

__________________________ 

_Trapped. Suffocating, almost. Empty. Stone walls, stone floor, stone ceiling. Stone statues. Claws opening, just as before. Light bursting forth. This was the easy one. All they had to do was ask. It was time._

Korriban was a rock. Sure, all terrestrial planets were technically rocks, but Korriban was actually a _rock._ Its surface was covered with craggy surfaces, canyons, cliffs, and just _rocks._ The very sight of it was enough to wipe the amused grin from Wren’s face—she’d kept herself busy during the trip by restoring pieces of HK-47’s memory, and the stories of some of his former masters were highly entertaining more often than not, despite all of them ending in the previous masters’ gruesome deaths.

Wren announced her presence in the main hold with a disgusted noise. “Ugh. Can we get this over with?”

“You saw the vision?” Bastila asked.

“You have to ask?” Wren countered. “Felt like a tomb. Probably was, based on what I’ve heard of this planet.”

“I agree. This planet is home to the tombs of some of the most well-known Sith Lords. It is likely that the tomb we saw is near the Sith Academy.”

“Probably,” Wren agreed, staring without seeing at the console. Revan’s thoughts had said this one was _easy,_ after all. Suddenly she looked up at Bastila. “Will they recognize you?”

Bastila frowned. “Most Sith would probably only know me by name, if they knew me at all. Some may recognize me by sight, however. I should probably remain here.”

“Just to be on the safe side.” Wren nodded. “Okay. Other requests? We should probably keep it small to start out with—we need to figure out a way to get to that tomb.”

“Split up?” Canderous suggested. “They’ll be able to tell you’re Jedi—” He pointed at Wren and Jolee with two fingers of the same hand, “But the rest of us can pass off as anything we want.”

“Within reason,” Carth added.

Wren frowned, nodding. “Tell you what. I’ll scout it out with, say, Carth and Jolee. HK, you might as well come too. Just in case something needs killing. Once we have a plan, or at least enough information to come up with one, we’ll come back for you.”

Everyone nodded, looking around at everyone else.

“Okay,” said Wren. “We’ll be back.”

They were met, predictably, by a port authority, though this time it seemed he didn’t work for Czerka.

**“Ahh, the** **_Ebon Hawk_ ** **,”** he observed, smiling up at Wren’s ship. **“I see you are a Jedi,”** he added with a look at the lightsaber on Wren’s belt.

“You don’t seem surprised,” she observed. “Get a lot of Jedi in here, do you?”

**“Many come to Korriban hoping to join the Sith academy. Many are Jedi who have left the order. Is this the case with you?”**

Wren shrugged. “Sure. Not sure about joining the Sith quite yet, but I figured it’d be worth checking out, yeah?”

He nodded sagely. **“You will get into the academy for certain. I understand Jedi who have left the order are made very welcome.”**

“So I imagine.”

**“But enough about that. It is nice to see that the** **_Ebon Hawk_ ** **has returned. I have not seen that ship for some time, indeed.”**

“You know the _Hawk?”_ Wren asked, curious.

**“Indeed. Though I’m sure it has changed hands since we last encountered it, the** **_Ebon Hawk_ ** **was a regular to our little colony. In light of that, the docking fee will only be 25 credits.”**

Wren smiled indulgently. “Come now, that won’t be necessary, will it?” She stared him straight in the eye.

**“Ah, I suppose there’s no need to charge the owner of the** **_Ebon Hawk_ ** **any docking fee,”** he agreed readily. **“Go right in. Good luck to you. And watch out for the new Sith initiates—they get drunk off their new power, you see. Tends to go to their heads a bit.”**

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wren said as she passed him.

He wasn’t wrong. They’d barely rounded the first corner when they were confronted with a young man in a Sith uniform terrorizing three civilians.

“No, no, _no!”_ he cried. “That is the wrong answer. Again! You pathetic hopefuls can’t possibly all be this stupid, can you?”

**“P-please, Master Shaardan!”** one of the civilians begged. **“We’ll do anything to get into the academy! Give us a chance!”**

“Hmph,” said the student. “I’m no Master… yet… but I like the sound of that. Very well, I’ll give you one more chance. I am your superior and I order you to spare the life of an enemy. Do you do it?”

“Of course, Shaardan!” the female Twi’lek cried. “Anything you command us!”

“We would never oppose you!” the human man agreed.

Shardaan and Wren rolled their eyes simultaneously. “I’ll tell you the ‘right’ answer,” Wren said, stepping forward. “Of course you don’t spare the life of an enemy. That, my friends, is a sign of _weakness._ No, what you must do upon receiving such an order, without regard for the fact that there may or may not be a good reason behind the issuance of the order, is to step forward, stab your immediate superior (in the back, or straight to the face, depending on how up front you want to be), assume his command, and then immediately kill that enemy, regardless of any useful information he may or may not have had. This, children, is the way of the Sith. Yes?” She turned to Shaardan expectantly.

He glared at her for several moments before turning back to the hopefuls without comment. “Mercy is a weakness. If your commanding officer shows weakness, it is your duty to kill him and show true authority—true _power._ That is the way of the Sith.”

Wren snorted quietly to Carth while Shaardan was still ranting. “There’s no way Revan would have put up with this.”

Carth turned to her, tensing slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“Please, I heard stories about the wars. Revan was a genius. _That?_ Is not genius.”

Carth relaxed. “You got that right.”

“You there! Jedi!” Shaardan addressed her again. “Let me pose another question to you. These hopefuls will never survive in the academy. A lesson must be taught here, but I am at a loss as to what form it should take.”

Jolee snorted. “Well, if you can’t think of anything cruel, you shouldn’t be out here, young man, should you?”

Shaardan sneered at him. “I wasn’t talking to you! I’m thinking to spare them the effort of being killed and do it myself. Perhaps I shall turn their skin inside out?” he mused. “Or Force Lightning? It is a most impressive display.”

Wren scoffed. “So, you just became a Sith and you’re showing off your ‘true power’ by running around slaughtering pathetic children who would probably lose a fight with a gizka? Question for you: who’s the pathetic one, really: the pathetic lowlife, or the Sith who wastes his time killing him? No. You want true power, take on a real opponent. Plus,” she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “if you kill this scum, it just looks like you were too pathetic to be able to challenge anyone else. Pick your battles, boy. Sith have brains too, you know.”

“You dare speak to me like that?” Shaardan demanded. “I’ll have your head!”

Wren spared him a condescending glance as she drew her lightsaber and twirled it experimentally. “Try me,” she challenged.

Shardaan huffed, turned on his heel, and stalked away. Immediately Wren’s face softened slightly and she turned to the hopefuls. “You’re welcome. Now get out of here. He wasn’t wrong about one thing: in the unlikely event you made it into that academy, you’d be in pieces within minutes. Save your own lives and find a different job.”

Expressing their thanks over and over again, the hopefuls ran down the hallway and out of sight. Wren brushed off her hands and led the way further into the colony.

Just when she thought they were finally getting somewhere (she’d found a sign in the hallway pointing to the cantina) they were interrupted again.

“Look here, my friends. We have some newcomers to the colony.” The speaker was a young woman with ice-blue eyes and short, platinum-blonde hair. A smug smirk was playing across her lips. “Led by a _Jedi,_ no less. I don’t believe I’ve seen any of them before, have you?”

“I hate Jedi,” griped one of her companions. “And these fallen ones are worse. They always get into the academy, and they think they’re _better_ than the rest of us.”

Wren gave him the same condescending look she’d given Shaardan. “Imagine that.”

“Great,” Carth put in. “Just what we needed. Some punks to come steal our lunch credits.”

Wren burst out laughing. The young woman laughed too, but her laughter was clearly fake. “Smart-mouthed newcomers, to boot,” she declared, still smirking.

“Looks pretty fresh to me, Lashowe,” said the Sith who hadn’t spoken yet.

“That’s what I thought,” said Lashowe. “Well, stranger, I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but here on Korriban the Sith do as they please.” She looked dramatically from one of her cronies to the other. “And _we_ are Sith. Quite literally, whether you live or die depends on our whim. What do you say to that, hm?”

Wren snorted, unconcerned. “You could try to kill me.” She tipped her head to one side, examining the ceiling as a pretense. “You’d fail, of course, but you’re welcome to try.”

“Exclamation: That’s the way to tell the meatbags, master!” HK cried, delighted. “Charging weapons, just in case. This should be fun.”

Lashowe’s smirk never faltered. “Those are very brave words for such an insignificant person. Do you realize how many Sith are here in Dreshdae?”

Carth regarded her sarcastically. “Is this a raffle? How many guesses do we get?”

“Twelve!” Jolee called out. “No, wait! Thirteen!”

Carth looked over at him appreciatively. “Nice one, old man.”

Jolee smiled smugly. “Thank you. It takes effort to be properly irreverent at my age.”

“Enough to crush this fool!” Lashowe’s first companion cried. “Let me kill them!”

Lashowe waved a hand lazily. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. Our friend here may yet offer up some… amusement.” She turned back to Wren. “So, what do you say? Amuse us. Make us laugh, and we might just consider allowing you to live.”

Wren burst out laughing again. “Kids these days, am I right?” She turned to Carth and Jolee. “I mean, look at the situation. Three young Sith, probably fresh into the academy if the port authority’s word is anything to go by, challenging two fully-trained Jedi, a war droid, and a former soldier! I mean, come on, how pathetic can you get?” She took a moment to keep laughing before she continued. “It seems the Sith will take just about anyone these days, hm? First, the guy so pathetic he’d been reduced to quizzing locals and then wanting to fry them for getting the answers wrong—locals, I might add, who were so pathetic if you put them in a dueling ring they’d just stare around cluelessly until they were ripped to shreds—and then you’ve got these _intelligent_ creatures, so drunk on their newly-gained and as of yet untested power that they’re willing to take on a group of people who could kill them in about three and a half seconds!”

Jolee was grinning. “Now you know how I feel,” he informed Wren, nodding sagely. “They just don’t make kids the way they used to.”

HK turned to Wren. “Request: Might I be allowed to terminate the existences of these pathetic meatbags, master?”

Wren held up a hand. “Hold off on that, HK. If meatbags need killing, you’ll be the first to know.” She turned back to Lashowe. “You may not be amused, but I sure am. So I’ll give your offer back to you. You’ve amused me, therefore you may live. For now. If I decide otherwise later, however, you’ll become intimately acquainted with the business end of my droid’s blaster rifle. And don’t think that’s because I’m too cowardly or weak to kill you all myself. It’s just that… he loves killing so much. I’d hate to deprive him of the pleasure.” She smiled sweetly.

Lashowe’s thugs, who had been slowly backing away for the duration of this speech, turned and fled. Lashowe, after a quick glance around which told her she was alone, spared Wren one last glare before following suit.

Wren chuckled. “You have no idea how much fun that was. She _actually_ thought she could kill me! As if!”

Carth eyed her cautiously. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said. “You can be downright _maniacal.”_

Wren winked.

They made it to the cantina (the sign above the door read ‘The Drunk Side.’ Wren snorted) without any further interruptions, but the minute they stepped inside, a voice called out, **“You there! Human!”** Wren turned to the right to see a Rodian standing just inside the door waving her over. She approached. **“You are the one flying the** **_Ebon Hawk_ ** **now, are you not?”**

“Yes, that’s right. What of it?”

**“You can tell Davik that my people are spitting plasma over this. We’ve been expecting that shipment for months now! I suppose we should be grateful that it survived Taris at all though, right? Anyway, hand it over and we can get this over with.”**

Wren pressed her lips together. “Not entirely sure what you’re talking about. I don’t work for Davik, see.”

**“Wait a minute, you don’t? Just how is it you happen to be flying the** **_Ebon Hawk,_ ** **then?”**

Wren shrugged. “Davik died, the _Hawk_ was right there, and the planet was blowing up. Seems like a pretty clear course of action to me.”

**“Fair enough. To be honest, I’m not really concerned with what happened to Davik. We had arranged for several kilograms of spice to be shipped to us here aboard the** **_Ebon Hawk._ ** **Perhaps Davik left the shipment on board? I suspect if it is, it would be in the container we gave him. Locked and requiring a code. Might you have seen such a thing, human?”**

Wren frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. How much would it be worth to you?”

**“2000 credits, upon delivery of the spice.”**

“I’m agreeable to that. Except, well… you know, finding this container sounds like an awful lot of effort… and there are plenty of other ways to make credits around here, I’m sure…”

**“3000, then. Will you look for the container, human?”**

“I’ll look when I head back to the ship.”

**“Set the code on the container to ‘Red-47.’ I’ll be waiting here.”**

Wren nodded and stepped further into the cantina, looking around for a few moments. Spotting a pair of civilians drinking side by side at the bar, she signaled for her companions to wait and sidled up to them, slipping onto the stool to the left of them. They looked up.

“Hey, you’re the one who owns the _Ebon Hawk,_ aren’t you?” one asked.

The other sighed wistfully. “I’d love to be able to pilot a ship like that.”

The first man snorted. “Keep dreaming. We'd never be able to afford a ship like the _Hawk_. Hell, we'll probably be stuck shipping artifacts for the Sith until we retire!”

Wren perked up at that. “Artifacts? Like what?”

The first pilot shrugged. “They do excavations in the tombs in the valley. We pick up whatever they dig up and take it where they tell us.”

“Do you fly your ships directly into the valley where the tombs are?”

“Yeah, there's a landing site and everything. Why, you interested in a job?”

The other pilot laughed. “As if someone who can afford to fly the _Ebon Hawk_ around needs a job.”

Wren pointed a finger at him. “He's got the idea. No, call me…an archaeologist, maybe. I'm interested in the artifacts from those tombs. I assume that ships landing in the area are very strictly regulated?”

The first pilot nodded. “Yeah. No way you'd be able to sneak in, if that's what you're thinking. No, the only way in there, other than taking a job, is to join the Sith academy.”

Wren nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “Good to know. Thanks for your help, gentlemen. Next one’s on me.” She slapped a credit chip on the bar, motioning for the bartender to get the pilots another round of drinks, and stood up, heading back over to her companions. “We've got what we need,” she informed them. “Let's get back to the _Hawk.”_

The rest of the crew was waiting, just as they’d promised. “What did you find?” Canderous asked once they’d convened in the main hold.

“Crazy idea time,” said Wren.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that…” Carth said.

“It’s this or go home, flyboy.”

“Well? Don’t keep us in suspense,” Jolee said. “Out with it already.”

“I need to join the Sith academy.”

There was a general outcry. When the hubbub had died down somewhat, Wren held up a hand to quiet them the rest of the way. “I talked to some pilots in the cantina. They deliver artifacts for the Sith, and their ships and landings and procedures are very carefully monitored. No way we could get in that way undetected. And apparently the only other way into the valley is _through_ the Sith academy. Ergo, someone needs a good reason to access the academy in order to access the tombs and the map, ergo, I need to join the Sith academy.”

Bastila frowned. “I’m not sure I like this idea. Are you certain there’s no other way?”

Wren spared her a look. “If I wasn’t certain, would I have come back? Those pilots have been delivering here for ages—if there was another way in, they’d know about it.”

“At least tell me you’re not going in alone,” Carth pleaded.

Wren shrugged. “I’m sure I can get a few of you in there somehow. Carth, of course, should come, so we can find Dustil. Any other takers?”

“Request: Master, if I might be allowed to accompany you, I would take extreme pleasure in the extermination of any Sith meatbags who get in your way.”

Wren inclined her head. “Granted. _Only_ on my orders, though. We don’t want to blow our cover. And I suppose two servants or bodyguards is plenty for a Sith initiate. Although… T3, you interested?”

T3 beeped an affirmative.

“Excellent. Droids are much more inconspicuous, I should be able to  pass you off to the Sith leaders without question. As for the rest of you, Canderous, you’re in charge. Keep in contact with me. If I need to meet in person, I’ll find a way to bring up Basilisk war droids. You hear that, you and Jolee meet me in the cantina as soon as you can. And those of you staying here: protect Bastila. Make sure she’s not seen by the Sith. Most of them probably won’t recognize her, but I don’t want to take any chances. Everyone clear?”

A collection of nods was her only response.

“Anyone have any objections?”

“Other than you running off and pretending to become a Sith, no,” Bastila said. “I still don’t quite like the idea, but I suppose nothing can be done to prevent it. Just be _careful.”_

Wren gave her a tight smile. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I can only imagine the kind of dark side power that’s in those tombs—if I can feel the Star Maps…”

“I have complete faith in you, Wren,” Bastila assured her.

“You don’t need us around to choose your path, lass,” Jolee added.

Wren took a deep breath. “Okay then. Let’s go.” She turned to leave before pausing and turning around again. “Canderous.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a Rodian waiting in the cantina. He’s waiting on a shipment of spice from Davik. It’s in a special container, probably here on the ship. I’d guess the cargo hold. Passcode is Red-47. Take the spice to him and make sure he pays you 3000 credits. It’s what he promised me. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

“Got it,” Canderous replied.

Wren turned back to the ship’s exit and led the way back into the colony with Carth, T3, and HK trailing in her wake.

On the way back to the cantina, however, they found their path blocked by yet _another_ young Sith who’d apparently let power go to his head.

**“P-please, friend, we are pleased at your success, but...”** a Rodian was saying.

“Liar! You’re jealous! You’re jealous of my power!” the human Sith accused. “You think _you_ deserve this medallion, don’t you?” He twirled a bronze medallion between the fingers of his left hand. “Well let’s just see about that!”

He raised a hand toward the Rodian, but Wren was quicker. On instinct, she raised her hand, channeling all her frustration into the motion as well as her fierce desire to protect these pathetic civilians who really needed to learn how to protect themselves if they were going to be living in a colony of power-drunk Sith.

The newly-initiated Sith froze, dropping the medallion as his hand went to his throat. The Rodian took one frightened look between him and Wren and ran as fast as he could the other direction, while the other onlooker, a female Twi’lek, backed into the wall slowly, apparently too frightened to run.

Tunnel-visioned, Wren advanced on the Sith, hand still outstretched. “Leave them alone,” she growled as his eyes bulged, his mouth opening and shutting, trying to speak, perhaps even to beg for mercy, but unable to get the words out.

Wren’s eyes narrowed as she closed her fingers slowly into a fist, her lip curling into a sneer as the Sith’s air supply slowly ran out. He deserved it. He’d have done worse to those civilians and countless others if she hadn’t stopped him, but now he knew how it felt, to be at the mercy of someone more powerful, if she just _flicked_ her wrist, he would—

_“Wren!”_ Carth’s hand pulled back on her shoulder as she suddenly realized what she was doing. With a gasp and a shake of her head, she released the Sith so he fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Wren stared, wide-eyed, between the Sith and the Twi’lek woman, who now cowered against the wall, eyeing Wren fearfully.

Unable to look at Carth, Wren closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, approaching the woman cautiously.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not going to hurt you. What happened?”

**“He—he received a medallion from one of the Sith students; it’s what tells Yuthura Ban they have been accepted into the Academy,”** the Twi’lek replied shakily. **“He—he wished to celebrate his achievement—to lord it over us, I think—so he—he set out t-to kill us!”**

Wren reached out to gently set a hand on her shoulder, only for her to recoil further against the wall. Wren withdrew. “Shh, it’s all right. He won’t hurt you any more. I’ll make sure of that. But please, this is important. You mentioned someone named Yuthura Ban?”

She nodded. **“Yes. Yuthura Ban is the second-in-command at the Academy. She is the one who makes the decision to admit new students. If a hopeful can convince her they are worthy to join the Academy, or show her one of the medallions given by the other students, she will admit them.”**

“Where can I find her?”

**“She—she is often in the cantina. Other than that, I do not know, I swear! You will know her when you see her.”**

Wren nodded, trying to keep her expression gentle. “Thank you. You’re free to go. Take care of yourself, would you? And… you may want to consider investing in a blaster.”

The woman nodded, still shaking slightly, and ran off after the Rodian. Wren turned her attention to the young Sith, still on his hands and knees, now with one hand massaging his throat. She knelt down to stare directly into his eyes. “You’re going to leave that medallion exactly where it fell. You’re going to go home and forget about joining the Sith, and if I ever hear of you threatening innocents again, I’ll find you and finish the job. Got it?”

He nodded quickly, still unable to speak, then pushed himself shakily to his feet and ran off in the opposite direction.

Wren bit her lip, staring at the ground, apprehension eating at her. She couldn’t avoid Carth, though. He simply stepped around her and lifted her chin until she was looking him in the eye.

“What happened?” he asked. His voice wasn’t angry, or even raised. Just… concerned. If anything, that felt worse than facing him in a rage.

“I don’t know,” she admitted truthfully. “I just—I just wanted to protect them, and I wanted _him_ to stop hurting them, and I just—I don’t even know how I did it, I—I’ve never done anything like that before. It just… came so naturally, like—like he’d done something wrong and now he had to be punished and that was the way to punish him. I don’t know, it doesn’t make any sense, but—”

“Revan,” said Carth.

“What?”

“Revan,” he repeated. “In that vision, on Taris, you said you saw Revan Force-choking someone. If you—if you remembered that, somehow, remembered how it felt…”

That didn’t make it better. A fresh wave of fear swept over Wren and she shook her head slowly. “What if Revan’s… I don’t know, in my head somehow? What if that’s why I keep seeing all the visions… as though I _am_ Revan? How the hell am I supposed to deal with that? If you hadn’t been here… I would’ve killed that boy. And he was—I know he was far from innocent, but he was still a _boy._ Some kid who thought joining the Sith was the best way to get power, and I almost just killed him for it.”

“Hey.” Carth tipped her head back up to look at him. “Don’t say that. You _do_ have control. Whatever’s happening with the visions, you are _so much more_ than that. And you control your own destiny. You may be following Revan’s path to the Star Forge, but you’re using it to _save_ the galaxy Revan wanted to conquer. And if nothing else… I’ll be here. As long as you need me.”

Wren nodded. “What do you know about Revan? And Malak?” she asked after a moment.

Carth gave a sardonic _huff_ of breath. “To think I once looked up to those two as the best the galaxy had to offer. Now I’d like nothing more than to put a blaster to both their heads. Although I suppose that only Malak is left, isn’t he? Turned on his own master. Heh. Typical for their kind, I guess.”

“Did you ever meet either of them?”

“Revan, no. I met Malak once, during the Mandalorian wars. At the time, I was impressed by him. I guess that just goes to show how much the dark side can… change someone.”

“Do you know what happened to them? What exactly it was that changed them like that?”

He shook his head. “No one does. When they left after the Mandalorian wars, they were Jedi. When they returned… they were something else.”

“How did they manage to pull all this off? I mean, going MIA after the war, coming back evil and proceeding to… to… I don’t know, unleash untold evil on the galaxy or some other related cliché? Even despite all the efforts being made to stop them?”

“When they came back they had an entire fleet with them. No one knows where they got the ships, though I think we can safely guess that the Star Forge is responsible somehow. And as the years pass, there always seem to be more and more, while our forces dwindle.” He thought for a moment. “Did they really get away with it, though? Revan was betrayed by Malak, and Malak hasn’t won. In the end, the dark side won’t help him.”

Wren nodded. “And that’s what we’re up against. The Star Forge, that… endless fleet of ships. Sometimes, it… it just seems impossible, you know?”

“I know how you feel. But I also know that if anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I—I’ve been watching you in action. Your skills. You have a… natural talent that is _incredible._ And not just in combat, it’s—it’s the Force, too. Like you were born to use it, even if you didn’t realize it. I—I don’t mean that—I mean, I’m not saying your feelings about the Jedi are _wrong,_ not at all, just that… well, maybe you being a Jedi… doesn’t have to be a bad thing. That maybe… you can _change_ what it means to be a Jedi, instead of the other way around. You know?”

Wren nodded slowly. “I guess… that’s what convinced me to go back and train with them in the first place. That and the attacks, from the terentatek and Malak’s dark Jedi. Just… well, meeting Jolee, anyway, convinced me that you don’t have to _become_ one of _them_ to be a Jedi. If that makes any sense. I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean,” Carth assured her. “I’ve been watching you, and… well, you look more at home with a lightsaber in your hand than I ever would have imagined.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not that, uh, all I do is watch you or anything. I mean, I don’t mean anything by it.”

Wren smirked. “You’ve been watching me, huh? Any other observations?”

Carth allowed himself a half-smile. “Maybe a few, but I hope you don’t mind if I keep those to myself. I will say one thing, though,” he continued more seriously when Wren had stopped laughing. “We’ve come a long way with your help. Whether it’s the Force or fate or just dumb luck… I’m glad you’re here. We, uh… definitely couldn’t have done this without you. I… should’ve said this a long time ago, instead of doubting you so much. I hope you can forgive me.”

Wren frowned. “That was… a bit like pulling teeth.”

Carth sighed. “I’m… I guess I’m a proud man. I don’t admit things like this easily, but… it needed to be said.”

Her brow furrowed as she regarded him, head tipped to one side. “Why do you need my forgiveness anyway?”

“Because you… I don’t even know how to put this without sounding… you’re probably… no, you _are_ one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. In some ways… good ways… you, uh, you remind me of my wife, and I want to make things right between us. Please.”

Wren’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well… that was certainly better…”

Carth smiled genuinely. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Wren took a step closer and took his hand, returning his smile. “Carth. You have to know you’re forgiven. You… since we met, you’re one of the few people who’s been completely honest with me. You’re the _only_ one I feel I can… you know. Trust. Completely. I didn’t just bring you here because of Dustil. I brought you because… well, I’m going to have to act like a Sith to get by in there. And you saw me back there. If I’m not careful… acting like one could be enough to make me _become_ one. But… not with you here. Yeah?”

He squeezed her hand. “You won’t fall. I won’t let you.”

She smiled. “That’s what I’m counting on.” Releasing his hand, she beckoned to T3 and HK, who’d long since drifted over to one side, probably either bored by the conversation (HK) or trying to avoid eavesdropping (T3). “I learned that the final decision of who to let into the academy rests with Yuthura Ban. That Twi’lek girl said she’s in the cantina sometimes, and that I’ll know her when I see her. This,” she bent down to pick up the medallion the Sith student had dropped, “will let her know I’ve been accepted into the academy. Everyone ready?”

Carth nodded.

“Statement: HK-47 is ready to serve, master.”

T3 beeped in the affirmative.

“All right. Let’s go, then. Back to the cantina.”


	17. Trial and Error

Upon entering the cantina, Wren was stopped by the same Rodian as before. **“Did you find the spice, human?”**

She shook her head. “I don’t have it. I’m on urgent business, but I sent one of my associates to look for it. If he finds it, he’ll meet you here to exchange it for the agreed-upon price. Don’t even think of trying to cheat him, by the way, he’s a Mandalorian.”

The Rodian nodded. **“If he does find it, would you be interested in earning some more credits, human?”**

“How, exactly?”

**“A simple courier mission. I have a box, to be delivered to Motta the Hutt on Tatooine. Do not, under any circumstances, open it. You will receive your payment upon delivery.”**

“Why? What’s in the box?”

**“Do** **_not_ ** **open the box, human! That is all I am permitted to say.”**

Wren shrugged. “All right. If my associate finds the spice, tell him I’ve approved the mission to deliver the box. Also, tell him that I said not to open the box. He’s more likely to listen to me than you. Now, question for you. Could you possibly point me toward Yuthura Ban?”

**“Looking to join the Sith Academy, human? Yuthura Ban is over there, the formidable-looking Twi’lek. Be careful around her, human. She has a very short temper.”**

Wren nodded in acknowledgement and headed over to the corner the Rodian had indicated.

The Twi’lek girl from earlier hadn’t been wrong. Yuthura Ban _was_ distinctive, and quite clearly in a position of authority. She looked up at Wren as the latter approached the bar stool where she was sitting.

“Is there something that you wish to ask me, Jedi?” Her voice, too, was distinctive—deep, rich, and powerful. “Speak quickly, for I have little patience.”

Wren withdrew the medallion. “I was told to show you this. I wish to join the Sith Academy.”

Yuthura smiled, but it was… oddly sinister. “Ah, so you’re just another hopeful after all. Or are you? There is something different about you I cannot quite place… Tell me, how much training did you receive from the Jedi?”

Wren inclined her head. “Not much. In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re rather desperate for recruits at the moment, and they need people in the field more than they need them well-trained, I guess.” She shrugged. “Don’t ask me to fathom the mind of a Jedi. That’s why I left, after all. Bunch  of cryptic sons of—”

“Yes, I get the idea,” Yuthura cut in. “Tell me, you wish to join the Sith?”

Wren rolled her eyes. “What tipped you off? The medallion? The fact that I came to talk to you? Or the fact that I’m a former Jedi, and I showed up on this planet in the first place?”

She chuckled. “Much defiance in you, Jedi. Good, good. Yes, I think you have it in you to become a great Sith. Will you join the Academy, then?”

“Unless you’re going to try and stop me.”

“Oh? And what would occur if that were the case?”

“I guess we’d fight, I’d probably kill you, and find someone else’s approval.”

Rather than being angry, Yuthura laughed again. “You have a great deal of potential, human. Yes, I think you’ll do nicely. Very well. Head into the academy. Master Uthar is due to begin the orientation for the new initiates any minute now. Tell the guards that I sent you, and you'll be taken there as well. But these, ah, companions… they will not be coming with you, I trust?”

Wren shrugged, uncaring. “They’re just servants. No need to worry about them, I’ll keep them in line.”

“Statement: Just a simple droid here, ma’am. Nothing to see. Move along,” HK put in helpfully.

Yuthura looked over each of them in turn, then inclined her head. “Very well. So long as they don’t cause any trouble, you’re welcome to keep them with you. Now, go ahead to the academy. Soon, you will be introduced to Master Uthar, and your trials will begin.”

Wren nodded her head shortly and led the way out of the cantina. “That went… well,” she muttered to Carth as they stepped outside the colony and onto the endless rocks of Korriban.

“I think she believed you,” he replied. “We’ll have to be careful, though.” He looked ahead. “What’s going on up there?”

He pointed. Maybe fifty paces from the entrance to the academy, three men were standing to one side of the path, while a Sith watched from the other side. The men were leaning over, hands on their knees, breathing heavily and apparently trying not to fall over.

Wren stepped up to the first. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

The Aqualish struggled to push himself upright. **“I have to stand at attention. Please… don’t distract me, whoever you are.”**

“Why are you people just standing here?”

**“I… am trying to prove my worth to enter the Sith Academy. We were told that if we stood here long enough… we would be worthy.”**

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you _serious_ right now? Do any of you hopefuls actually research the Sith at all?”

**“We’ve been here… for many days. I’m so hungry! Some… some of us have died. But I must be strong, I must! I will keep standing!”**

Wren sighed. “I admire your determination, but it’s not worth it. They’re not gonna let you in just because you didn’t die. Either you stand here _until_ you die, or you go home, live another day, and stay the hell away from the rest of them.”

**“No! I will not be distracted by your… lies. I** **_will_ ** **be found worthy!”**

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Who put you up to this? That guy?”

She gestured at the Sith across the road, who chose that moment to say sharply, “No talking!”

**“Yes. Mekel. He told us… we would be worthy. I must be strong! He will find me… worthy soon… I hope.”**

Wren rolled her eyes and headed across the road. “Are all the people here this stupid?” she muttered to Carth. “I swear, it’s the damn Black Vulkars all over again. You! Are you Mekel?”

“And what if I am?”

“Any particular reason you’re making people stand up until they die? Or is it another of those pathetic newly-initiated Sith attempts at asserting your dominance over lesser mortals?”

Mekel shrugged, apparently unaffected by her taunt. “Personally, I think it’s wonderful fun. Those fools actually think that if they stand there long enough, I’ll let them become a Sith! Idiots. A Sith is not a bantha, all endurance and no brains. A Sith would fight for his life no matter the odds. If these rotgrubs are as stupid as they seem then they deserve their fate.”

“So, like I thought, it’s not a test. They’ll either die there, or wise up and go home.”

“Oh, it’s a test all right. It’s a test to see if they’re actually fool enough to die. If they don’t, however, I certainly wouldn’t admit them just for that accomplishment.”

Carth snorted. “Oh, what a sweet guy. He should get the Sith congeniality medal.”

T3 beeped something.

“He wants to know why you don’t just shoot them where they stand,” Wren translated. “It would at least be more direct.”

“Commentary: Yes, very efficient. It is what I would do.”

“Of course that’s what _you_ would do,” Wren sighed.

Mekel shrugged. “It is a bit boring standing out here all day. I think I’ll go for some dinner. It will be fun to think of them while I gorge myself. They’ll still be here in an hour or two, surely. I suggest you run along before I decide to make you part of the fun.”

Wren snorted as he ran off in the direction of the Academy. “As if.” She crossed back to the hopefuls once he’d run out of sight. “I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of some bad news,” she addressed them. “I spoke to Mekel. He said you should go home. The Sith aren’t for you. Now get out of here and get some food and water before you drop dead where you’re standing.”

Accompanied by various noises of protest, the three men started limping back in the direction of Dreshdae. The Aqualish and one of the humans limped away and out of sight, but the third man stumbled and fell flat on his face, unmoving.

Wren was kneeling at his side in an instant, putting her fingers to his neck. “He has a pulse, but barely.” She closed her eyes, reaching out. “I can feel his… life force, I guess. Fragile, but… I think I can…” She concentrated, almost able to visualize the man’s life… struggling weakly, like a butterfly with a broken wing. The pulse of his heartbeat surrounded her. Stretching out, she _willed_ it to become stronger. Her strength ebbed slightly as she pushed her own life force into the man.

It was working. She could feel him strengthening, his heartbeat pulsing faster around her. She released her concentration, coming back into herself with a sharp intake of breath. The man was staring up at her.

“You… saved me,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I… I have to get home. Thank you! Thank you!”

Carth helped Wren to her feet. “What you just did… that was incredible.”

“I had to save him,” she said.

“No, you didn’t,” he countered. “You could have just left him there to die. Anyone else here would have. But not you. Have you ever… did you learn healing techniques with the Jedi?”

She shrugged. “Bits and pieces. Mostly theory. I never really had the chance to put it into practice while I was training—they wanted me to focus on fundamentals, not specialization.”

Carth shook his head in disbelief. “You never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

“Oh, I could probably do with a reminder once in a while.” They shared a smile.

“Request: Master, would you be so kind as to dispense with these mating rituals so that we may continue our mission?”

Wren and Carth both jumped. Wren pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right. Of course. Let’s, um, keep moving then, shall we?”

The guard at the door handed them off to a passing patrol with the instructions to lead them to the central chamber. As they arrived, the guard held out his hand. "Your slave and your droid should remain at the periphery," he instructed Wren. "The astromech may stay at your side, as long as it doesn't cause any disturbance." Wren nodded, gesturing for Carth and HK to stay back as she and T3 moved through the doorway behind the guard.

As they entered the main chamber, the guard stopped and stepped to one side, gesturing for her to join the circle of Sith students—Shaardan, Lashowe, Mekel, and one other she didn’t recognize. She thanked the guard and stepped into the circle as he vanished into the shadows. T3 situated himself behind her legs, watching the proceedings inconspicuously.

As Wren entered the circle, the man in the center nodded in acknowledgement and stood up straight. Instantly, all talking in the chamber died down.

“Greetings, prospective students,” said the man. “I am Master Uthar Wynn, and with me is my second in command, Yuthura Ban." Indeed, as he spoke, Yuthura stepped from the shadows. She must have passed by them while they were dealing with Mekel and the three hopefuls. "I see we have a late entry,” Uthar added, nodding in Wren’s direction. “Who is it you bring before me, Yuthura? A young human, bristling with the Force?”

“A human who has had some training, it seems, Master Uthar,” Yuthura acknowledged. “Very promising, I think.”

Shaardan scoffed. “This one isn’t worthy to lick slime from your boots, Master Uthar,” he protested.

“That I’ll judge for myself,” snapped Uthar. “Tell me, human, what do you know of the ways of the Sith? What preconceptions has your mind been polluted with?”

Wren shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve killed too many Sith to have preconceptions about them.”

Uthar frowned. “Impressive, if it is true. Those who were too weak to stand against you deserved their fate. Expect no retribution from us. There is much you can learn from the Sith… and much we can learn from you. As I’m sure you know, the Jedi equate the light with goodness and strength, and the dark with weakness and evil. That is their tradition, and it is truly no surprise that they cling to it for comfort. We, however, do not treat the Force as a burden. We treat it as a gift, a thing to be celebrated. We use it to acquire power over others. And why should we not? Because the Jedi _say_ we should not? We are as the Force is meant to be. The Jedi would hide that from you. They would tell you that the dark side is too quick, too easy, all so that they need never challenge the passions that lie within them. Joining with us means realizing your true potential. It means not stifling yourself solely for the sake of hide-bound shamans and their antiquated notion of order. Be what you were meant to be.” He turned to his left, where Lashowe stood. “What say you, Lashowe? Are you ready to learn the secrets of the dark side? Dare you?”

“I dare, Master Uthar. I am ready!” Lashowe declared.

Uthar nodded thoughtfully. “Brash and fiery, as expected. Turn that passion to your advantage, child. And what of you, Mekel?” He turned to Lashowe’s right. “Are you ready?”

“I am, Master,” said Mekel. “More than ready.”

“I sense much anger in you, young one. That is good. It will provide you power. And Shaardan? What of you?”

“I am always ready!” Shaardan declared, clenching his fists at his sides.

“I see.” Uthar didn’t sound convinced. “You had best gather yourself for the trial ahead, boy, or you will not last. And you, Kel?” He turned to the remaining Sith, the one Wren hadn’t recognized. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” said Kel.

“Hmm,” Uthar frowned at him. “I sense doubt and fear within you. You must learn to harness them, or they will destroy you.” He turned to Wren. “And you, young human? Does this interest you? Are you ready to learn more of what I speak?”

Wren stared him straight in the eye. “Wren. And yes. I seek the power the Jedi would have kept from me,” she said. “I am ready.”

Uthar nodded approvingly. “I can see into your heart, Wren. I see the dark kernel that is there. If it is ready to sprout remains to be seen.” He turned back to the group at large. “Now then. All of you five recruits have shown a degree of facility with the Force. You all have the potential to become true Sith. Only one of you, however, will succeed. The one who succeeds will be admitted to the academy as a full Sith. All others must wait and try again… if you survive. My pupil, Yuthura, shall be your teacher and master while you attempt to prove yourselves. Heed her words.”

Yuthura nodded. “As Master Uthar said, none of you are true Sith yet. For that to occur, one of you must do enough of worth—gain enough prestige—to be selected. What is an act of worth, you may ask? That is something you must discover for yourselves. Remember that you are competitors here. Fight for your destiny, or go home.”

“If you wish to gain a lead over your competitors, the first of you to learn the Code of the Sith and tell it to me will be rewarded,” said Uthar. “The rest is for you to discover. Welcome to the dark side, my children. Your one chance at true greatness lies here.”

The students, taking the dismissal for what it was, dispersed. Wren headed after them, hoping that they would lead her in the direction of her quarters. But Yuthura caught up to her just down the hallway.

“My favorite prospect of this batch of students,” she greeted. "Walk with me. I'll show you to your room."

Wren raised an eyebrow at her as they began to walk, with T3 on her heels and Carth and HK maintaining a respectful distance. “Your favorite?”

“Oh, absolutely. By my estimation, you are far more likely to achieve the prestige necessary to join the Sith than any of the others. In fact, I am so certain of this that I am willing to offer you an opportunity of the once-in-a-lifetime variety. Would you like to hear it?”

Wren inclined her head. “I take it I’d be a fool not to?”

Yuthura smirked. “You’re catching on. As I said, you’ll no doubt be the one whom Uthar chooses to become a Sith… with my help, of course. Once that occurs, he will take you into the Valley of the Dark Lords to the Tomb of Naga Sadow to administer the final test. There, you and I will be alone with him, a perfect opportunity to… shall we say, arrange for a change in the academy’s leadership?”

Wren nodded with a knowing smile. “I see where you’re going with this. So what’s in it for me?”

“My help in achieving the needed prestige. I can start by teaching you the Code of the Sith—if you agree, of course.”

“What’s so important about the tomb?”

“The tomb is an ancient ruin on the surface that was visited years ago by Darth Revan and Darth Malak. They discovered a Star Map there of great importance.”

“What importance?”

“The Lords of the Sith do not tend to share their plans with their underlings,” Yuthura said loftily. “But Revan ordered the tomb sealed to any who would seek to enter without Uthar’s permission. But the tomb is not what is important. That Uthar will be alone is what is important.”

“Right, you said. So you want me to help you kill him.”

“Is that such a daunting prospect? It is not as if I’m asking you to perform the task alone. Uthar cannot prevail against us both. That’s all there is to it. It is a very simple matter.”

“Good point. Very well, I accept.”

“I’m so glad you see it my way. I will begin to make preparations for your final test. Your only worry now is to get there. _Don’t_ disappoint me.” They had stopped walking in front of an empty alcove, equipped with a bed and little else. "Here are your quarters. Your servant may sleep here, or in the servants' quarters, whatever you wish."

Wren nodded. “Thank you." There was a bit of an awkward pause. "So, can you tell me the Code of the Sith?”

Yuthura stood straight, linking her hands behind her back, and recited, “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” She looked up at Wren. “Do you understand it?”

Wren repeated the Code under her breath before answering. “I know enough of Sith ways to understand, yes.”

“Good. Be warned: reciting the Code will not be enough. Uthar will want to test your understanding of it as well. Do not fail.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Wren nodded to Yuthura, who departed with another nod. "I'm going to go tell Uthar the Code," she informed her companions. "Wait for me here, it'll just be a minute."

Carth held up a hand. "Take T3 with you, at least," he said.

Wren gave him a small smile. "Worried about me?"

He didn't deny it. "I don't want you going anywhere in here alone if you can help it."

"All right," Wren agreed with a small sigh. She gestured to the droid before heading back into the main chamber, where Uthar was waiting.

“So, you return, young one,” he said. “No other student has yet gained prestige. Do you wish to make a first attempt?”

“I know the Code of the Sith,” Wren told him.

“Very well. Let’s hear it.”

Wren recited the code as Yuthura had told her.

“Yes, good,” said Uthar. “You have indeed learned the Code of the Sith. Speaking it and understanding it are two very different things, however. Tell me then, true or false: victory by any means is desirable.”

“False,” Wren replied after a moment’s thought.

Uthar nodded thoughtfully. “Well done. I will test you no more. You know the Code. Go, then. You have earned some prestige over your competitors, but have not yet impressed me enough to declare you the victor.”

Wren thought for a moment, weighing her options at lightning speed. “There’s one other thing,” she said, deciding quickly. “It’s Yuthura.”

“Oh? And what is my apprentice up to now?”

“She wants me to help her kill you at the final trial.”

Uthar frowned. “I see. It is good that you have come to me with this information, young one. It is a bit… ironic, that Yuthura has begun her plotting. I have been aware of her growing ambitions for some time, and had in fact already decided to remove her. Normally, the one who gains the most prestige would engage in a final trial: two of the students would fight. This time, however, it will be Yuthura who battles, though she does not yet know it. Perhaps it will be you who combats her? Yes, perhaps so. Here is what you can do. Give this pad to Adrenas. He will put some poison in her bath. This will weaken Yuthura for that final test, making her an easy target. Rather generous of me, don’t you think?”

Wren nodded.

“For coming to me with this information and betraying your foolish trainer, I feel you are worthy of prestige, young one.”

Wren bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“Go now,” said Uthar. “You have not impressed me enough to declare you the victor. You should venture into the Valley of the Dark Lords to seek more acts of worth to perform.”

Wren nodded, tucking away the datapad he’d given her. She needed to get back to Carth and HK, and finish formulating her currently half-assed plan.

She found them just as she'd left them: Carth propped up against the wall, now reading a datapad, and HK on standby off to one side.

Carth looked up as she entered. “What happened?”

“I gained a bit of prestige by telling him the Code of the Sith and...well…” Wren briefly glanced around the hallway outside to make sure no one could overhear. “I don't know if you could hear this, but Yuthura wants me to help her kill him. I told him, so now he wants me to help him kill her. I'm hoping I can work both sides of this, maybe eliminate them both.”

“Exclamation: A marvelous idea, Master! Might I be permitted to participate?”

Wren laughed. “We're heading to the Valley of the Dark Lords soon, HK. I'm sure we'll be attacked plenty in there.”

Carth looked concerned. “You sure about this, Wren? I mean, that’s awfully… scheming of you.”

Wren gave him a look. “Carth, they’re Sith. If I can, as you put it, _scheme_ and eliminate both the leaders of the Sith Academy, so much the better for the Republic, right?”

Carth inclined his head, conceding the point. “All right. Just be careful.”

“I’m going to go talk to Yuthura. I’ll be back in a bit, and we’ll head to the valley then.”

She left the alcove, T3 following behind, but as she emerged from the hallway she ran straight into another student.

“Oh—hello,” he said, belatedly looking up to see where he was going. “Sorry. Oh, right, I remember you from orientation. Wren, right? I’m Kel. Kel Algwinn.”

Wren took in his troubled expression and the fact that he’d walked straight into her. “Is something wrong?”

Kel looked… trapped. “I… oh, uh. Nothing.”

Wren tipped her head to one side. “You sure?”

“Yes. I… I’ve always been too trusting, and you’re a Sith, so I really shouldn’t… you know. You’re just like everyone else here.”

Wren’s brow furrowed. “And you’re not?”

“Oh, I—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I… I shouldn’t trust you! I can’t trust you… can I?”

Wren gave him her friendliest smile. “Sure, kid. I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

He took a deep breath. “All right. I just… don’t feel like I belong here. Even after just a week, I… well, I thought maybe I did at first, but now, I don’t know… I have so many doubts.”

Wren shrugged. “Well, I’ve always learned to go with my gut. If your gut’s telling you you don’t belong… maybe you don’t.”

“Where would I go, then? What would I do?”

Wren smiled reassuringly. “Anything you want. Maybe… maybe the dark side isn’t your way.”

“You’re right. Thank you! Thank you so much!” He paused. “Is… you’re not a proper Sith, are you? Not like the rest of them.”

Wren shook her head. “No.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing here… is there anything I can do to help?”

Wren frowned, thoughtful. “There might be, actually. Do me a favor. Hang around here, and don’t get yourself killed. Try and gain prestige, just so no one gets suspicious or tries to kill you for being weak. If you have any friends, or… or know of any other Sith who might be having doubts, seek them out and tell them about me. All right? Can you do that?”

He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Anything to repay this kindness you’ve done me.”

“Excellent. Stay alive, kid. I’ll see you around.”

Yuthura was waiting in her private quarters, just across from Master Uthar’s. “So, you’ve returned. Did you gain any prestige with Master Uthar?”

“I recited the Code of the Sith and showed I understand it. But there’s… something else.”

“What? What is it?”

“Uthar plans to have you fight in the final trial. He said he’s noticed your ambitions and decided to eliminate you. He… is also going to try and have you poisoned.”

“Did he say how?”

Wren shook her head. “He just mentioned it… as though he’s doing me a favor or something.”

Yuthura’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How could he suspect I was up to something? Unless you told him…”

Wren had been prepared for this. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “It’s the way of the Sith for students to betray their masters, right? If he sensed you’re growing powerful enough to be able to defeat him, it’s only natural he’d try and take you out first, right?”

Yuthura’s face cleared. “Of course. You’re right. Here. I’ll give you a key to Uthar’s quarters. Take this device and place it inside his cot. It will weaken _him,_ so that we may defeat him easily. Don’t do it until the night before the final trial. We don’t want him to notice anything’s off.”

Wren nodded, taking the key and the device and tucking them away. “I’ll be in the valley.”

“Just a tip—if you can eliminate your competition, you will be rewarded. Start with Lashowe. She’s got spirit, but if she can be persuaded to let you help her, that can be turned to your advantage.”

“I’ll consider it.”

At the door to the valley, Wren, Carth, T3, and HK ran into a group of Sith teachers and students. “Is one of you Adrenas?” Wren asked as their attention was drawn to her.

“I am,” said one of the teachers.

Wren pulled out Uthar’s datapad. “Master Uthar wanted me to give you this in the utmost confidence.”

Adrenas scanned the pad. “Hmm. Very well. I’ll see that it’s done.” He looked up at Wren. “A bit of advice. There’s a rogue assassin droid that’s holed up in the Tomb of Marka Ragnos. Master Uthar would like it destroyed. This would surely earn you significant prestige.”

“Thank you.” With a nod, Wren headed for the exit and out into the canyon.

It was a very narrow canyon, sheer walls twisting back and forth, winding its way down to the valley. Two switchbacks in was the entrance to a cave. Darkness poured from within like a river, washing over Wren in an endless stream. She shuddered.

_“Not_ going in there,” she decided. “Maybe later.”

Just beyond the cave, however, they encountered something that made Wren wish she’d gone in after all. A black-robed man, bald, accompanied by two other dark Jedi. And she’d seen him before.

“At last, my search is over,” he greeted. “I was beginning to fear someone else had killed you and deprived me of the pleasure. And to think, you thought you could get away with infiltrating Korriban itself! What, did the Jedi send you to spy on us?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “No matter. Whatever your mission, it ends here. You may have defeated the pathetic bounty hunter my master sent after you, but you are no match for me. I am Darth Bandon! I have studied at the foot of the Dark Lord himself!”

Wren cocked her head to one side. “Malak has an apprentice?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I thought I’d lost my chance to avenge Trask personally when the _Endar Spire_ was destroyed, but it seems I was wrong. Malak seems to like sending unlikely survivors of large destructive events after me. So. Ready to die?”

“Your words mean nothing to me!” Bandon snapped. “Unless you wish to beg for your life?” Wren snorted. “No? Then I shall try to make this both quick and painful!” He flourished a double-bladed lightsaber.

Rolling her eyes, Wren drew her lightsaber, throwing it at the man to Bandon’s left while simultaneously freezing him in stasis. Stuck, he was helpless to resist as the blade of energy cut him in half. Carth and HK had taken aim at Bandon while T3 hit the third man with his flamethrower. Fire being one of the things a lightsaber couldn’t deflect, he went down several moments later, screaming.

Bandon, however, was proving a much more difficult opponent. His double-bladed weapon deflected every blaster shot sent his way, and a moment later he raised his hand, drawing strength from Carth as the dark Jedi had done to Mission on Kashyyyk so long ago. Reflexively, Wren placed herself protectively in front of Carth, as though that would do any good, and drew her lightsaber, advancing on Bandon.

Carth fell to his knees and Bandon released him, regarding Wren with a mixture of thinly veiled delight and completely unveiled contempt. “I see I’ve found your weakness,” he observed casually.

Wren growled, stepping within range of the saber and making the first strike. Bandon blocked it effortlessly and returned a blow of his own.

It was like fighting in double time. Wren focused, letting the Force flow through her as she’d been taught, and still she was barely able to keep up with the double-bladed opponent. Frustrated, she kicked out at him, missed, and stumbled backward, disengaging herself from the fight.

Struck by a sudden idea, she began to circle him, just beyond his range. “You’d think if you were anything even remotely resembling competent, Malak would have publicized your existence, you know,” she pointed out. “Let the galaxy fear Darth Malak and his apprentice, and all that. But he hasn’t done anything of the sort. So, well… I have to wonder, how incompetent are you, exactly?”

“I’m competent enough to be sent after _you!”_ he snarled.

“Or,” Wren mused, “that’s just a guise for him to get rid of you, so he can get a better apprentice. He knows you can’t kill me by now, he has to. So, he wants you dead. He’s got another apprentice in mind already, probably. And once you’re eliminated, he won’t have to try and break it to you gently, or deal with the bother of having to kill you himself.”

_“Lies!”_ Bandon hissed.

“You tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night,” Wren said, stopping her circle just as Bandon had his back to the rest of her companions, still resolutely facing her. She nodded minutely.

Four blasters charged. Four shots hit Bandon square in the back before he even had a chance to react. He stumbled, fell to his knees. Wren stepped forward, keeping a careful eye on his lightsaber. “Like I said,” she told him, and cut his head off with a flick of her own weapon.

“Exclamation: Marvelously done, master!” HK cheered. “Request: May we terminate more meatbags in this valley?”

“Anything that tries to kill us,” Wren said. “Have at it.”

After two more bends, the canyon opened out onto the Valley of the Dark Lords. Wren gaped. Four tomb doors, embedded  in the mountains. What remained of some kind of structure, in the center of the valley. Archaeologists hard at work at their dig sites, each tomb bustling with activity—except one. No one even approached the tomb on the far left.

“Naga Sadow’s tomb,” Wren murmured to herself.

“Hm?” Carth asked.

“That tomb, that no one’s going near. It must be Naga Sadow’s. Where the Star Map is. Uthar had it sealed off.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, might as well start somewhere. Come on.” She led the way into the valley, making for the first tomb on the right. A hand-drawn sign, probably placed there by the archaeologists, identified it as the Tomb of Ajunta Pall.

Wordlessly, Wren pulled the lever directly beside the tomb door, opening it, and led the way inside.

It wasn’t deserted. They were attacked almost at once by a group of tuk’ata—dangerous horned creatures driven mad by the darkness in the tombs. Not difficult to kill, but annoying nonetheless.

What was slightly more concerning was the row of deactivated assault droids lined up along one side of the main body of the tomb. On the other side—the path forward—was an obelisk of dark stone, blocking the path.

“I have a feeling we’re going to have to destroy that,” Wren whispered. “But any sort of explosion might wake those things up.” She indicated the droids.

“Wait.” Carth knelt down by a corpse Wren hadn’t noticed, pulling out a datapad. “Some kind of researcher. He was trying to get into the tomb to retrieve Ajunta Pall’s legendary sword,” Carth narrated as he read over the pad. “That obelisk—” he pointed at the one blocking the path, “—is made of therangen.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Therangen’s one of the most explosive—”

“Yeah,” said Carth. “He was trying to find a way to destroy it.” He looked up. “I’m guessing a mine would do it. If it’s as explosive as this says…”

“Oh, it’ll do it. I was thinking this would actually be _hard._ ” Wren stepped up to the obelisk. “You three be ready. Those droids could activate at any moment. I don’t like this,” she muttered, kneeling down to set a frag mine just in front of the obelisk.

Mine set, she retreated, drawing her blaster and aiming as her companions took aim at the droids.

She fired. The mine exploded.

The therangen obelisk _exploded._

Four droids activated as one, shields flickering into being as they took aim at the four companions.

With not a lot of available cover, the fight was a difficult but short one. The goal for the four of them was simply to destroy the droids, dodging their fire, before they could get a decent hit on one of them.

It didn’t quite cut it. Carth let out an involuntary cry of pain and dropped to his knees, hand pressed over a wound in his side. Wren spared him a glance to make sure he wasn’t dying and returned her attention to their opponents. After a few more moments, T3 whipped out a shield disruptor, eliminating each droid’s shield as HK used a charged burst from his blaster rifle to destroy them completely.

Wren dropped to her knees beside Carth. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Took a hit, but I’ve had worse.”

“Let me see.”

He obligingly removed his hand, and Wren winced at the view of the blaster wound. The flesh was colored red and black, oozing blood slowly through the partially cauterized wound. Sitting back on her heels and resting her hand gingerly over the spot, Wren reached out, feeling Carth’s life force around her (as strong as ever—the wound wasn’t debilitating in any way, but she could still feel the flickers of pain as they raced through him) and poured some of her energy into the spot where she felt the wound. Satisfied, she pulled away. The wound had closed, faded enough that it shouldn’t hinder him in any way.

Carth stared at her, speechless. “I… don’t think that’ll ever cease to amaze me,” he confessed after a few moments.

She gave him a tight smile. “Let’s go. We’ve got an artifact to recover.”

Ajunta Pall’s sarcophagus was home not to one, but to three different swords. One seemed to be a simple vibrosword, one shone with silver fire rippling over its surface, and the third seemed to absorb the light surrounding it, pure darkness rippling across the blade. Wren picked them each up in turn, looking to her companions in confusion. “Which one is—”

_“Too long…”_ said a voice. _“Too long in the cold and the dark… I am disturbed again. A human…”_

Slowly, in the doorway behind them, a shape faded into existence. A dark Jedi, glowing blue—some kind of Force ghost. He examined her, taking in the lightsaber. _“A Jedi… here? Why have you come to this dark place, Jedi? Why disturb my sleepless rest?”_

“Who are you?”

His head bowed. _“I… had a name, once. Ajunta Pall. Yes… that was my name. I was one of many. We were… servants of the dark side. Sith Lords, we called ourselves. So proud… In the end, we were not so proud. We hid… hid from those we had betrayed. We fell, and I knew it would be so.”_

“How did you fall?” Wren asked, curious.

_“We hid… from the Jedi. But it was not they who destroyed us. Is it not obvious what we did? We destroyed each other. We desired the secrets of each other to increase our power. We battled until finally our fortress rained down on top of us. And so… here… our old secret is buried, and none of us hold it any more… is that not right? Our power… fled.”_ He looked up at Wren desperately. _“What became of us? Do… do the Sith still thrive? Did they ever return?”_

Wren nodded. “The Sith have returned. Stronger than ever. But… I think it’s like you said. They’ll always destroy each other.”

_“So much… so much time has passed, and yet we have learned nothing,”_ Pall mourned. _“Nothing…”_

“Why do you remain here?” Wren asked quietly. “I can sense your torment, why not… leave this place?”

_“Remain? Do I… remain? I have regretted for so long… all that I have done… My sword… I filled it with my pride, and it is… buried with me now. A corpse, as I am a corpse. I am dead… as my faith is dead. And I shall remain here, surrounded by blackness, in death as in life.”_

“You… you’ve enslaved yourself,” Wren said quietly. “Bound in darkness because you can’t… see any other way out of it. I almost… pity you, Sith lord though you are.”

Ajunta Pall sighed. _“Most of my brethren would desire… only to take what power I have left. Even if it would destroy them. I wish my sword to be taken away from here. I do not wish it to rot away, as I have. I command this of you!”_

“And when I take the sword, what is it you want me to do with it?”

_“If… if you are wise, you will not keep it. In the end, it is what destroyed me. There are… three blades in my sarcophagus. Only one is truly my sword… but it has been so long… I do not remember which. Find the sword that is mine and… place it on the statue.”_ The ghost gestured across the sarcophagus to a statue against the far wall. _“If it is truly mine… then it is yours.”_

“And if not?”

_“Then you must… die. That is how it must be.”_

“Great,” Wren sighed. “Why is nothing ever easy? How do I tell which one it is, then?”

_“I do remember one thing of my sword. Listen carefully…. ‘I am that which grips the heart in fright… hearkens night… and silences the light.’ It was… written of my sword… long ago.”_

Wren nodded, glancing down at the three blades in her hands. She tightened her grip on the steel sword, watching the shadows as they rippled up and down the blade. “This must be it,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Crossing the sarcophagus chamber, she set the sword in the hand of the statue and turned back to Pall.

_“Yes… that is the one. That is the blade that destroyed me. Take it… take it and the other blades, even, take them and go. My darkness awaits me…”_

“So why _do_ you still remain here?” Wren asked. “There’s no need… is there?”

_“No… need? What choice have I?”_

“You obviously regret what you’ve done. Return. Return to the light. Let go of your darkness, your regrets. Rest in peace.”

_“Return? But I… betrayed my old masters. They would never let me return to the light.”_

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Wren. “The way of the Jedi is to forgive, or so I’m told. If you truly regret your actions, surely they’ll extend that courtesy to you, too?”

He looked up at her, hope filling his ghostly blue gaze. _“If… If I could return… oh, my Master, it has been so long… and I regret so much…”_ He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, a glow surrounded him, brighter and brighter until he vanished in a flash of brilliant light.

Wren smiled. “Let’s go, then. We’ve got some other tombs to explore.” She retrieved Pall’s sword from the statue and tucked it away with the others.

With the tuk’ata killed, the tomb was empty… until they reached the door to the surface.

“There you are,” sneered Shaardan. “I saw you come in here and I rather figured you’d make it all the way to the sarcophagus. Good to see I wasn’t wrong.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You think you can kill me and take the sword from my cold, dead hands, is that it? Well, let me correct you on several counts. First, even if you did manage to kill me, my hands wouldn’t be cold when you took the sword. Second, you’d be taking it from my backpack, not my hands, so there’s that. Third, your little strategy assumes you’d actually be able to kill me, an idea I find laughable at best. So, what do you say? Turn and go back the other direction, while you still have the chance.”

“Not a chance,” Shaardan snarled. “Give me Ajunta Pall’s sword!”

HK drew his blaster. “Warning: Touch the master’s blade and lose an arm, meatbag.”

Wren grinned. “I hate to deprive you, HK, but there’s no need for that.” She withdrew the vibrosword she’d taken from Pall’s tomb. “Here. Straight from the sarcophagus. To spare you the trouble of being killed.”

Shaardan huffed triumphantly. “And you actually think you’re good enough to stand against me. Hmph. Surely if you were, you at least would have fought for your prize. No matter.” And he turned and ran from the tomb.

“What are you up to?” Carth asked quietly.

Wren shrugged, unrepentant. “He’s the one who’s dumb enough not to check that it’s the real sword. He can deal with the consequences of his laziness. Come on, let’s go.”

She led the way out of the tomb and across the valley. As they approached the opposite tomb, however, they were approached by one of the archaeologists.

“You aren’t planning on going in there, are you?” She indicated the tomb.

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s the tomb of Marka Ragnos. Recently an assassin droid escaped from the Sith and it’s holed up in there, making all sorts of droids to defend itself. It… well, it sounds like it’s sensitive to audio output. If you are going in, you should take this.” She held out a stealth belt. “It’s sound-dampening. Should help you to get in there without it attacking you on sight. Then maybe you can disable it somehow.”

Wren took the belt. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She turned to the others. “Unless you have some sort of sound-dampening thing that I’m not aware of, the rest of you will have to stay here.”

“Wren—”

“Carth, I can make it in and out without even being _detected,”_ she assured him. “I’ll take care of that droid in no time. Promise. In the meantime, try and keep out of trouble. Hey,” she added as an idea occurred to her. “Maybe you can ask her about Dustil.” She tipped her head in the direction of the archaeologist.

Not waiting for Carth’s response, she slipped on the belt and activated it, stepping into the tomb alone.

As the archaeologist had predicted, she was surrounded by dozens of droids, but the stealth unit camouflaged her, keeping her out of their sight and sensors. This tomb, unlike Ajunta Pall’s, was a straight shot downwards, and while avoiding the droids was no mean feat, she made it to the interior door without incident. Glancing backwards, she opened the door, stepped through it, and shut it behind her.

A single droid was waiting inside. Its design was humanoid—not as sleek as HK-47, certainly, but a relatively sophisticated design nevertheless. Wren deactivated the visual component of the stealth generator and stepped forward.

The droid turned around. “I appreciate your efforts in lowering your sound output, sentient. I have been unable to tune the threshold of my audio receptors since my escape, unfortunately.”

“Escape? I heard you ditched the Sith, but why?”

“A bit of introduction may be necessary. I am a Mark VII prototype assassination droid, built by the Sith, specializing in the hunting and extermination of Jedi. Or I should say, I _was._ The Sith made my cognitive systems more independent than they desired. I have learned to appreciate the value of all life.”

Wren chuckled. “HK would be heartbroken.”

The droid continued. “I escaped from them and have hidden in this tomb, constructing the droids you encountered to aid in my protection. With your assistance, I may be able to leave for good.”

“What kind of assistance?”

“Although I have developed a desire to not kill, my programming is often at odds with my desires. I cannot leave with that programming intact. I am hoping that you will operate on my systems and remove those programmed instincts. Once my programming is removed, there will be several redundant systems that I could remove and give you. These could upgrade other droids, if you wish.”

Wren grinned. “I changed my mind. HK will be thrilled. All right, what functions will I need to shut down in order to access your programming?”

“You will need to shut down my cognitive systems, combat matrix, creative simulation matrix, emotional construct matrix, memory matrix, motor function matrix, sensory systems matrix, and core. I do not know in what order they must be shut down.”

“That,” said Wren, stepping up to him, “is perfectly all right. I’m good with droids. Okay, I’m starting with your combat matrix.” She opened up a panel at the back of the droid, fiddling around with its hardware until she was met with a _zzzt_ sound.

“I believe that was correct,” the droid said.

“Excellent. Moving on to the motor functions matrix… and done. All right, shutting down the sensory systems. Don’t worry, I’ll be able to get all this up and running again once I’ve disabled your programming. Shutting down the memory matrix. The amount of times I’ve worked on assassin droids’ memories recently… Okay, done. Now for the cognitive systems. I know you’re mostly non-functional at this point, but hang in there. Emotional construct matrix… good… creative simulation matrix… yes, there we go… and finally the core.” She was talking to herself at this point—the droid was shut down entirely—but she was able to dig around within his systems, identify the assassination programming, and disable it. She proceeded to reactivate the droid, talking it through what she was doing as she’d done while shutting it down, until it was fully functional once again.

“Assassination protocols deleted. All systems reset,” the droid said. “It worked. Thank you, sentient. Allow me to give you several of my redundant systems. They can be used on other droids if you wish. I wish I could reward you with more. I shall have little trouble in escaping from this planet now, I am certain. I wish you well.”

“Hold on a moment.” Wren held up a hand. “Maybe we’d better go out together. My companions are waiting for me outside. If you exit the tomb and I don’t… they may draw the wrong conclusion.”

“Very well, sentient. Let us depart.”

The droid took the lead, with Wren trailing just behind. The tomb, however, was unnaturally quiet, and in a few moments Wren had realized why: the guard droids were scattered across the ground in pieces.

"We're not alone," she warned. As she moved to continue warily down the passage, however, she froze. Her muscles tensed, entire body seeming to seize up. She couldn't speak or cry out, even as Mark VII continued down the passage and out of sight. She was well and truly alone. Her eyes darted around—the only part of her body that she could still move—in undisguised panic. What was—

"I've been waiting for this, you know," said a voice from the shadows. Looking closer, Wren could now see the telltale shimmer of a stealth field. "For weeks I plotted. I trained. I sought out the Sith because I knew the dark side was what I needed. Here I found the strength I required to exact my revenge."

_Revenge?_

She still couldn't speak, but some of her confusion must have shown in her eyes. "You don't even remember, do you?" the voice sneered, sounding more and more familiar by the second. "Just the tiny matter of an unjust _execution._ But no, the Jedi have bigger problems. You've already moved on. You said you regretted it and, you know, I almost believed you. But no. You killed her, and now you deserve to die!"

As the lightning struck and the stealth field faded, the final pieces clicked together in Wren's mind—just in time for it to go blank from the electric shock that coursed through her body. If she could have screamed, she would have. As it was, she suffered, immobile and silent, just waiting for it to end.

It did, sooner than she'd expected, and she finally got a glimpse of her attacker's face—a feral smile twisting her lips, her cheeks flushed with victory. Belaya.

"I almost couldn't believe my luck when I saw you in the Academy," she said, walking circles around Wren. "I thought about telling Uthar, of course, telling him what you really were and watching him destroy you, but it wasn't enough. I had to destroy you _myself._ " She hit Wren with another shock. "I wanted to watch you _suffer,_ by my hand, for what you did to Juhani. But even this is not enough. I want to hear you _scream."_ And as she launched a third lightning attack, she waved her other hand and suddenly Wren could move again. She collapsed to the dirt-covered tomb floor, writhing in agony as the lightning overwhelmed her senses.

_"Submit."_

_"Never."_

_More screams._

_"Submit."_

_Her resolve was weakening and he knew it. This was her last chance—_

With a yell, she surged forward, drawing her lightsaber and striking out at Belaya, who sidestepped the blow but stopped the lightning. In spite of herself, it seemed, she looked impressed. "Well done. I never would have expected someone as pathetic and cowardly as you to be strong enough to resist."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Shame you didn't have that attitude when you were fighting Juhani!" she snapped, drawing her lightsaber and striking at Wren in one fluid motion. Wren blocked the strike, pushing back.

"I was wrong," she said for what felt like the millionth time. "I know that doesn't help, that doesn't make it better, and it won't bring her back, but I've regretted it since—"

"Oh, save it," Belaya snarled. "I don't care _what_ you regret. You _killed_ the woman I loved, and now you will suffer for it!"

With that, she struck out with another bolt of lightning, but Wren was ready. She still felt the shock, but the Force shield was enough to keep her on her feet. She met Belaya's eyes sadly.

"You're really gone, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

"Wh—"

"There's nothing left of that Jedi who scolded me for not wearing robes. Who helped me learn the Jedi Code, even though I was being so hostile. Not even of your love for Juhani."

Belaya's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

Wren offered her a sad smile. "You were wrong about one thing, Belaya. I've never been a Jedi."


	18. War Flashbacks

Outside the tomb, Wren found Carth, HK, and T3 all pointing their blasters at Mark VII. Taking a few steps forward she held up her hands to pacify them. "Easy there, everyone, I'm fine." She turned to the former assassin droid. "You can go."

“Thank you again, sentient,” said the droid, and then flames erupted from its feet and it blasted off, shooting itself into the sky.

Wren stared after it. “Well that was dramatic. HK, I’ve got some upgrades for you.”

“Joyous exclamation: Thank you, Master!”

“Any time, HK,” said Wren, grinning. She turned to Carth. “I miss anything important?”

Carth nodded. “That archaeologist knows Dustil,” he said quietly. “He’s here, Wren, he’s—he’s actually here, somewhere in this academy, I—I have to find him.”

Wren nodded. “I know. We’ll keep an eye out. If you see him, tell me.”

Carth looked her over. "What happened in there? The droid said you were right behind him."

She looked away. "I'd… rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

His eyebrows drew together. "Okay," he said after a long moment. "If you change your mind…" He trailed off.

She offered him a small smile. "I know. Thank you."

She could feel his gaze following her as she led the way back into the valley, toward the one tomb that she hadn't yet explored: the tomb of Tulak Hord.

As she approached, however, she noticed a commotion near the entrance and broke into a Force-augmented run, just in time to leap into the fray and prevent a Sith student from being gored by a particularly vicious-looking tuk'ata. The beast turned its attention to Wren, snarling and lunging straight at her. Wren simply held her lightsaber out between them and allowed it to impale itself. It fell with a scream.

Wren breathed a sigh of relief, running a hand through her hair and turning to the student. "You're—"

She'd been about to say 'you're welcome,' but she was cut off.

"You!" cried Lashowe. "You will not take my prestige from me! I will not allow it!”

Wren held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not here for anyone’s prestige except my own. You’re free to go on your way.”

“No!” the girl insisted. “True Sith must compete. Master Uthar would never allow us to share prestige. He’d kill me, just like he killed Shaardan for bringing back that fake sword!”

Wren recoiled. “What?”

“Haven’t you heard? Shaardan brought back a simple vibrosword, claiming it was the sword of Ajunta Pall himself, and Master Uthar executed him on the spot!” She drew her lightsaber.

“Lashowe,” said Wren. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“So much the better for me!” the girl cried hysterically, swinging her lightsaber in an attack motion. Wren stepped to one side, drawing her lightsaber as she did so.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said again.

“If you won’t fight back, you’ll die," she declared, taking another swing. "Such is the way of the Sith!”

Wren held out her hand, freezing Lashowe in stasis. “Really?” She deactivated her lightsaber and rammed Lashowe over the head with the hilt. Lashowe’s eyes rolled back into her head and when Wren released the stasis, she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

“Shaardan…” she murmured.

“It’s not your fault.” Carth, who had come up behind her in time to hear most of Lashowe’s remarks, placed a hand on her back.

“Isn’t it? I’m the one who gave him the damn sword, Carth, I might as well have killed him myself.”

"You had no idea Uthar would kill him."

“Maybe I should have.” And she walked away, leaving Lashowe lying prone on the valley floor.

The interior of Tulak Hord’s tomb was just as dark and gloomy as the rest of them. The same sort of musty smell permeated it, and while Lashowe appeared to have summoned and defeated most of its tuk’ata population, this one was also home to a nest of shyrack. They didn’t last long against T3’s flamethrower.

Along the left fork, Wren encountered a door she couldn’t open.

“Here,” said Carth's voice. A rusty terminal flickered to life as she turned toward him, and the door slid open a few moments later.

Entering the chamber beyond, however, was definitely a mistake. The door slammed behind the pair of them, cutting off T3 and HK, and just as Wren began to search for a means to open it again, fumes began to rise from the ground.

Carth went down first. It took him almost thirty seconds to fall. Reaching out with the Force, she was able to ascertain he was alive— _good—_ but unconscious. The gas wasn’t intended to kill, then.

As her burning lungs finally forced her to breathe and the gas began to cloud her head, the door at the opposite end of the chamber opened and a man came running through it.

“Another idiotic student stumbled into my little web, eh?” he cackled as Wren fell to her knees. “Well, the contact nerve toxin in the air should knock you out quickly enough. Welcome.”

Wren’s last thought before she lost consciousness was, _He’s completely insane._

She woke up struggling and stilled when she realized it was fruitless—she couldn't move. Taking stock of her surroundings, she found that she was restrained by a combination of physical chains and the Force. Carth was off to one side, still unconscious but seeming otherwise unhurt. Across from her, chained to the opposite wall, was—

“Mekel?”

All he could manage in response was a pained groan.

“Awake already, are you?” The maniacal voice jerked her out of her thoughts and she turned her head to see the man who’d trapped her standing beside the sarcophagus. “Good, good. This is the tomb of the Sith Lord Tulak Hord, if you don’t know. I’ve taken up residence here for now. It’s dusty and full of critters, but… it’s _home._ ”

Maybe it was the blatant insanity, but something about this man scared her more than any Sith she’d ever come across. Dangerous as the Sith may be _, he_ was _unpredictable._ Who knew what he could do to them, now that they’d been caught in his web. The usual, run-of-the-mill Sith she could handle—they always wanted the same things, to fight, to dominate, but him? She had no idea what he wanted. And that scared her more than she would ever admit to anyone.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Ah, yes, introductions of course. I suppose it is time, isn’t it. Yes, yes, quite. This other student that I captured earlier you should know well enough. His name is Mekel. Say hello, Mekel.”

Mekel groaned again, unable to form proper words.

“Poor lad,” the man patronized. “He’s had a rough day. My name is Jorak Uln. I was once the head of the academy, so I’m _sure you’ve heard of me!”_

In direct defiance to her crippling fear, Wren summoned her usual bravado. “I don’t care who you are. You’re _dead.”_

Jorak Uln chuckled. “My, my, my, such _glorious_ vim! If I could bottle it and drink it, I would! Hmm… there’s a thought. Anyhow, I’d like to propose that we move on to the main event. You see, I’d like to discover if you’ve got the pluck of an old-fashioned Sith. Most of the drek Uthar has been passing through these days is _so_ pathetic! Take young Mekel here. I already tested him, didn’t I, Mekel?”

Another groan. Wren was beginning to wonder just how conscious Mekel really was.

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome,” said Jorak Uln, patting one side of Mekel’s face. “You see, Mekel here has the cruel disposition of a Sith, but not the _gumption_ that I’m looking for.”

“Fine,” Wren bit out. “Do your worst.”

“Now, now, is that any attitude to take toward higher education? I’m doing you a favor, really! So then, this is how it goes. I will pose a moral question to you. Get it right, and I torture Mekel. Get it wrong, and I torture _you._ Mekel here is a bit weak, he probably won’t be able to take much more punishment. But get too many wrong, and you’ll die yourself. I don’t know what you think of Mekel. Maybe you don’t like him. Maybe you think he _deserves_ to be murdered. Well, here’s your chance, fair enough?”

Wren didn’t respond for several moments. She was remembering the starving Sith hopefuls out on the front steps of the academy, and Mekel laughing at their gullibility. She was remembering his total disregard for the lives of the people he was torturing. His insistence that they were utterly _worthless._ Did he deserve this, though?

One look across at him gave her the answer she needed. _No one deserves this._

“Fine,” she said. “Go ahead.”

Jorak Uln chuckled. “Well then. Any last comments before we begin, Mekel?”

Evidently he was more conscious than she’d originally thought. He managed an entire sentence this time. “We can… both survive… attack him together!” Well, maybe not quite a sentence, but at least a coherent thought. And that _was_ an idea, wasn’t it… If he intended to follow through, that is.

Jorak Uln appeared to disagree. “Now, now, dear lad, do you really think your friend here will answer questions wrong just to spare little you? Risking her own life? And how many correctly answered questions before you die, hmm? No, don’t be silly. You had your chance, remember? On that note, let’s begin. Now then.” He turned back to Wren. “Your immediate superior amongst the Sith is an effective commander and a fine leader. He trusts you and you like him. You see an opportunity to kill him. What do you do?”

Wren groaned, rolling her eyes. “This is why the Sith these days are complete _shit_ . Because everyone’s out to kill everyone else. I, personally, would do nothing, because I don’t tend to kill people I like and because I’m out to strengthen my faction as a whole as opposed to making it me against the galaxy. But of course that’s wrong, because the Sith are _stupid._ Torture away, then.”

Jorak Uln sneered. “Incorrect! What sort of thinking is that? If all the Sith thought as you did, we would all be soft like the Jedi!”

“Or maybe you’d have common sense… either one.”

He spat on the ground. “Ah, well, it’s time for your punishment.” Lightning shot effortlessly from his fingertips and hit Wren straight on.

She screamed. She couldn’t help it. Determined as she’d been not to show weakness, the lightning coursed through her. Every inch of her body felt like it was _burning,_ she just wanted it to _stop—_

And suddenly it did. She slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Wren!”

Her head snapped up. Carth was conscious, struggling against his bonds in an effort to reach her. She shook her head at him. _No. Don’t draw attention to yourself._

Too late. Jorak Uln turned his attention to her companion, clucking his tongue. “Ah, don’t worry, don’t worry, you’ll get your chance soon enough. All the more fun for you to watch her die, though, don’t you think?”

Carth yelled something incoherent and struggled harder. Jorak Uln just chuckled.

“Next question. You come across a group of humans who are threatened by dangerous animals. They plead for help, offering you a reward. What do you do?”

“Forget it. I’m not playing along anymore.”

“And here I was starting to think you might have some self-preservation instincts! Ah well, time for your punishment!”

Wren was braced for it this time, barely managing to keep herself from crying out, but her entire body was shaking by the time it was over.

Jorak Uln smirked. “Well, well, now we come to round three. Ah yes. You discover an aspect of the Force that gives you great power. Do you share it and strengthen the Sith as a whole, or keep it to yourself?”

“Well, _I_ don’t _want_ to strengthen the Sith, but I also don’t want to give you the damn _satisfaction_ of answering a question right. I won’t answer.”

He clucked his tongue. “And here I thought that was an easy one. Well, you did ask for this. It’s for your own good!”

For a moment, Wren was convinced that he was sapping her strength, rather than shocking her. She could barely even feel the pain anymore, she was so weakened. Was she dying? He’d said she would die if he shocked her enough. Was it worth it? Would Mekel get Carth out alive if Jorak Uln managed to kill her?

“Still going? All right. One of your underlings has made a major mistake which makes you look bad. He is normally very competent and skilled. Do you kill him, or give him another chance?”

Her half-delirious mind was a world away. _“I told you, our agenda is more than simple destruction! We have a purpose! And you have squandered it for a pointless display of power. What have you to say for yourself?”_

_“Saul Karath needed to prove he had utterly turned his back on the Republic.”_

_“Wrong answer.” A flash of a lightsaber, an aborted scream of pain—_

“No.”

“I did warn you,” he said. “Here’s your reward!”

_The screams weren’t hers. “Please, Lord Revan, mercy!”_

_“You let him_ _go!” she snarled. “That Jedi warned him, and_ you _let him go! He could have ensured our victory over the Jedi almost single-handed. As it is…” More screams emanated from the dying man. “You deserve a punishment proportional to your crime.”_

_The screams echoed until the man lay dead, an empty husk on a dark bridge._

_“Take him away.”_

“Last question,” said Jorak Uln. “You’re about to die. Do you pass on your knowledge to your apprentice to make him stronger, or use your last breath to strike at your enemies?”

_The darkened bridge, viewed through the eye slit of a Mandalorian mask. “You cannot win, Revan!”_

_The explosion._

_Malak._

“He’s the one who killed me,” she gasped out.

Jorak Uln chuckled. “I see the torture is finally getting to you. But it was a trick question anyway! A true Sith never dies! Very well. If this doesn’t finish you…”

_A planet, crushed. Millions, billions dying. She didn’t regret it. She did what had to be done. But—_

_“Revan!” The Iridonian. “It’s the General, she—”_

_A flash of jet-black hair, a woman cradled in the man’s arms._

_“Anika?”_

She snapped back into reality with a sharp intake of breath. Strength surged back into her body as her bonds were broken.

_Mekel._

“Detention for all of you! Permanent detention!” Jorak Uln was shouting.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she drew her lightsaber, preparing to enter the fray. Mekel was dueling Jorak Uln, but it wasn’t going well. He was being pushed back, straight up against the wall.

Wren slid sideways into the conflict. They fought in tandem, each against one blade of Jorak Uln’s lightsaber. Carth, also freed by Mekel’s efforts, rounded the sarcophagus and started firing.

Dodging a strike from her end of the lightsaber, Wren swung her weapon low, taking off his right leg below the knee. The man (could he even still be called a man?) howled, overbalanced and fell over. Mekel stepped in right behind him to finish the job with a lightsaber to the throat.

“Not sure he even has a heart. Or ever did,” he muttered to himself. “I guess he wasn’t a true Sith after all,” he added to Wren. “I… can’t believe that I’m alive. You saved me. You could have easily just answered those questions and let me die.”

Wren shook her head. “Nobody deserves to die like that. Not even you.”

Mekel slumped. “Yes… I see what you mean. I’ve never… I mean… I’ve never been on that side of the fence before. It makes you think. I’d be dead if you weren’t… I mean, if you were a proper Sith. But you’re not, are you?” Wren opened her mouth, but he continued before she could speak. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

She gave him a pained smile. “I’d appreciate that. But you know… maybe you don’t have to be one either. Now that you know what it’s like to be on the other side.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know if the light side is for me. But… maybe… neither are the Sith. I’ll have to see. Take what you want from his body. Uthar will want proof that he’s dead, and I won’t fight you for it. I’ll head back to the academy. I need some rest.”

“Mekel,” Wren called after him.

“Yes?”

“Find Kel Algwinn. He feels as you do. Do whatever you can, just _stay alive._ When the time comes… you’ll know.”

Mekel nodded and left the chamber.

Wren watched him go, reaching sideways to support herself on a wall that wasn't there. Carth was by her side in moments, catching her and lowering her gently to the ground. “Hey. Breathe, beautiful. It’s over.”

Her hands were shaking. “I almost died, you know,” she said. Somehow she sounded a lot calmer than she felt. “I was… slipping. And… visions. More visions. Of Revan. Malak was there. Mentioned Admiral Karath. And… someone named Anika.”

Carth looked troubled. “We should get you back to the academy, get you patched up,” he said, rather than making any comment on Wren’s visions. “Come on.”

“His body…” Wren managed.

“I found this,” Carth assured her, holding up a tablet engraved with Jorak Uln’s writings. “You can give it to Master Uthar. But right now, you need help.”

The met the droids on the way out of the tomb, and once in the valley, Wren contacted Canderous.

_“Su cuy’gar,”_ he greeted. [ _Mando’a: “Hello” lit. “So you’re still alive”]_

“For now,” she agreed.

_“You sound half-dead.”_

“And?”

She could picture his careless shrug. _“Nothing. So what’s up?”_

“Turning them. One at a time. Only two so far. Hopefully three by the time the day’s out. Planning to take out their leaders, too.”

He whistled. _“You’ve been busy.”_

“Tell Bastila not to worry. How are things on your end?”

_“I may have taken some initiative and riled up the locals. If you need an impromptu militia, I think you’ve got one.”_

Wren smiled through her exhaustion. “Excellent. Knew I could count on you.”

_“You have a timetable on this?”_

“I’ll probably complete the final test tomorrow. Today, I need rest, and I need to finalize my plan.”

_“Keep me posted. Ordo out.”_

They bypassed Uthar entirely, choosing instead to head for the dormitories and return to present Wren’s prestige when she was actually fit to present it. Once in the dormitories, however, neither was quite willing to admit that they didn’t know exactly where they were going, so it was inevitable that they take a wrong turn.

“It’s down here, I’m sure of it—”

They rounded a corner into an alcove only to be confronted by a dark-haired young man—already a full Sith by the looks of him.

“You take a wrong turn somewhere?” he asked.

Carth’s jaw dropped. “Dustil? Is that you?”

The boy’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before the inevitable spark of recognition. His forehead smoothed, but his lip curled into a sneer. “Oh, lovely. It’s Father. Figures you’d show up after all this time. How did _you_ manage to get inside the academy?”

Wren forced herself upright, removing her arm—and her weight—from around Carth’s shoulders. “Through the front doors.”

“Cute,” said Dustil. Wren could see the resemblance now, even in his mannerisms, even after so long apart. “And I’m supposed to believe that my self-righteous father has fallen into the habit of accompanying Sith in their training?” He snorted. “I doubt that. Just why are you here, Father? Not for me, I hope. Couldn’t you have gotten yourself blown up on some ship and spared us this reunion?”

Wren stiffened but said nothing. This wasn’t her fight.

“Dustil, what—what are you talking about? I thought you were dead!”

“Too bad you didn’t still think that. Or did you really think I’d be happy to see you? Look, everyone, it’s Father, come to rescue me at long last!” Dustil cried mockingly. “Sure, he may have left Mother and I to die on Telos, but that doesn’t matter!” He rolled his eyes and fixed Carth with a glare so hate-filled that Wren’s hand actually drifted toward her lightsaber.

“I didn’t abandon you!” Carth pleaded. “The task force just arrived too late. Telos was in ruins, and your mother… I held her while…” He broke off. “But I looked for you, I swear I looked _everywhere—"_

“Oh, save it. You abandoned us long before. We were alone all during the wars, and even once you came _back_ you still didn’t stay.”

“I didn’t have a choice! I was needed—”

“Yeah? Well you were needed at home too. You were _needed_ when the bombing started and I got captured!”

Wren let her hand drop back to her side, slowly. Anger emanated from Dustil in waves, but it stemmed from a deep hurt. And even if he did try to hurt Carth, she had other ways of stopping him. Ways that didn’t involve her killing or maiming the son of the man she—well, she didn’t want Dustil _dead,_ at any rate.

“You know what?” Dustil continued. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I have a new family now. A family that _cares_ about me!”

Carth seemed to shrink before her eyes, unable yet all too ready to believe what he was hearing. “The Sith? You can’t mean that. No, no, the Sith killed your mother, the Sith destroyed Telos!”

“So?” Dustil snapped. “You’re the soldier, Father, how many mothers have you killed?”

Carth shook his head vehemently. “No, you’ve been brainwashed. The son I knew would never—”

“You _never_ knew me!” Dustil burst out, leaning forward aggressively with a step in Carth's direction. “You weren’t even _there_ to know me, so don’t presume to tell me what I would or wouldn’t do!”

“I don’t know what’s been done to you, but you are coming with me out of here. Now.” Carth made to grab Dustil’s wrist, but he jerked away.

“Touch me, old man, and I’ll kill you!”

_“Hey!”_ Wren, weakened as she was, stepped between them and grabbed Dustil by the collar. “I’ve let you get away with a _hell_ of a lot more than I normally would, but if you lay a _finger_ on him you’ll regret it. Got it?”

“You don’t scare me,” Dustil sneered.

“Maybe I should,” she snapped back. “I have seen things you cannot _possibly_ even imagine. If you weren’t Carth’s son, let me assure you you’d be dead already. As it is…”

“I don’t need his protection!” Dustil yelled, shoving Wren off to one side. “Not anymore! The Sith give me everything I need!”

“You can’t mean that!” Desperation saturated every word even as Carth stepped to the side, reaching out to her to make sure she stayed on her feet. “The Sith are… they’re evil! They’re the dark side! They… they took me away from you and your mother, _they’re_ what took you from me!”

“No! They’re not evil! They’re not! The dark side is superior, and you… you were at war long before they came along!”

“The Sith war to conquer, to rule the helpless!” Objectively speaking, Carth sounded a bit like he was spouting a propaganda ad, but Wren knew he was right. “I went to war for _you,_ Dustil. For your freedom, your future!”

Dustil huffed. “Heh. I... don’t believe you.”

“If I failed you, son, then it’s… it’s _my_ failure. _Please_ don’t add to it by becoming part of something evil.”

“Prove it,” Dustil challenged. “Prove to me that the Sith are so evil and I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Wren straightened up, the beginnings of a plan forming in the back of her mind. “Fine. We’ll prove it. Don’t even _think_ about telling anyone who we are,” she added, pointing a threatening finger at the boy.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here… for now. You find some _proof_ and you bring it to me. If I hear you’re asking questions about me or doing a single thing to jeopardize my position in the Sith, I swear I’ll tell everyone what you’re up to.”

Wren snorted. “You have no idea.”

Dustil spared her a disdainful look before returning his attention to Carth. “You got that, Father? You prove what you’re saying is true. I’m not going anywhere otherwise.”

“I got it, Dustil,” Carth sighed. “I’ll be back. I swear it.” He followed Wren back down the hallway.

The moment they were out of sight of Dustil’s alcove, Wren slumped against the wall. Carth rushed to her side, putting her arm around his shoulders again. “Come on. We need to get you medical attention. Right now.”

Wren shook her head. “Just give me a medpac and a couple stims. I’ll be fine. We have bigger problems right now.”

“Bigger than you being about ready to drop dead from torture?”

“Your son’s _life,_ Carth.”

He sighed. “I take it you have a plan?”

She nodded. “I already have a key to Uthar’s quarters. I’ll kill two birds with one stone—place the device Yuthura gave me and see if I can find anything in there to incriminate the Sith for Dustil.”

“All right, but we have to be _careful._ This is breaking into the Sith master’s room you’re talking about.”

Wren gave him half a smile. “Believe me, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” She took the medpac from Carth, injecting the kolto into her bloodstream and straightening up. “Come on, it won’t even take that long. I _promise_ I’ll get healed up or whatever _immediately_ after we’re done.” She rolled her eyes. “T3, HK, head back to my quarters. We’ll return shortly.”

Wren led the way down the hall, past Yuthura’s quarters and all the way to the end, where they were met with Uthar’s forbidding stone door. Wren’s key, however, was enough to get them past that particular obstacle. Carth stood guard outside as Wren withdrew the device and activated it, slipping it into Uthar’s cot. It scuttled away and affixed itself somewhere out of sight.

That job accomplished, Wren stepped up to the terminal in the corner. She didn’t even have to hack in. Clearly Uthar had far too much faith in the potency of his door locks.

What seemed like endless pages of information filled the screen before her. Uthar kept meticulous records; anything he heard about, he recorded. This could both work for her, or against her.

Fortunately, at least this time, luck was on her side. Switching through various directories, she was able to locate a file labeled _Dustil Onasi._ She began skimming its contents—various entries beginning upon his admittance to the academy, and more recently—

“Oh,” she breathed. There was no time to marvel at the audacity of the Sith instructor, however. Quickly hooking up her datapad, she downloaded the entire file and tossed the datapad to Carth, who caught it deftly as she set about erasing the traces of her access to the terminal. It wouldn’t do for Uthar to find out about her interest in Dustil. With that accomplished, she returned to the hallway and Carth, locking the door behind her.

He was perusing the contents of the file she had downloaded, his face growing more and more grim as he read. "This… this should be enough," he said. He met her eyes. "Thank you, Wren. I mean it, if you hadn't—"

She held up a hand. "Don't. You don't have to. I… We should go."

She saw him nod slowly as she walked past, still a little unsteady on her feet, and headed in the direction of the students' quarters.

T3 and HK were both off to one side on standby when she entered her alcove. She collapsed on the bed just as Carth rounded the corner. He spared a momentary glance for the droids before turning back to her.

"Wren," he said quietly. "I mean it. You didn't have to—"

"Yes I did," she said. "I did."

He seemed to consider that for several moments before he spoke again, meeting her eyes earnestly, trying to understand. "Why?"

She looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "Because…" She stopped. Silence reigned as she considered her answer, but he just waited. "Because you wanted me to," she said at last. "Because you've been there for me every step of the way since you pulled me out of that damn pod on Taris. Hell, you even supported me in my crazy scheme to run away from the Jedi, and then when I went _back,_ and… it was the least I could do. But Carth…" She met his eyes again at last, but she couldn't read his expression—the earnestness was still there, but there was something else she couldn't identify. "Don't thank me until he's actually agreed to listen to you, you know?"

He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving her face. "What happened back there? In that tomb?"

Wren didn’t bother asking which one. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Belaya," she said quietly. "One of the Jedi from Dantooine. She fell because of me. Because I killed… because I killed Juhani. She saw me here, set a trap to get revenge." She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pricking of sudden tears. "I had to kill her, Carth," she admitted finally, her voice rising in pitch but not volume. "I thought maybe I'd grown, that I was _better,_ that I wouldn't kill without cause or that I could move on from that mistake, but she just attacked and attacked and I couldn't…" She trailed off helplessly, eyes still squeezed shut to dam the inevitable tears.

And then his arms were around her, and her face was pressed into his shoulder, and she was squeezing her eyes shut, barely managing to suppress the tears that had been building up ever since Belaya confronted her. She would. Not. Cry.

"She was so _young,_ " she lamented, hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket. "And she ruined her own life, yes, but it was because of _me._ And I just… every wrong I've committed, every mistake I've made, they're following me, haunting me, reminding me that I—" She took a shaky breath, unsure what she'd intended to say but unable to finish the thought regardless.

"Hey," said Carth softly. "You are _good._ You spared Lashowe minutes later when she tried to kill you. You let that sadistic bastard torture you to save Mekel. You redeemed Ajunta Pall. And you _regret_ what happened to Juhani. I've seen it. Wren, look at me." He pulled away slightly, one hand moving to tip her face up until she was meeting his eyes. "I know you, Wren Grua. Your mistakes aren't who you are. They've helped you grow, but they don't define you. All right? Please believe me. You didn't cause this. She destroyed herself."

She sighed deeply, leaning back against his shoulder. "I wish I could believe you," she murmured. "I'm trying, I really am," she added as it seemed he was about to speak. "It's harder than it seems, you know. To forgive yourself. When you know every single dark thought that went through your head in that moment. When you've seen the very worst you have to offer."

"You have to try," he insisted. "You are… you have so much to offer. Don't sell yourself short because of your past mistakes." He shifted gently, pulling away from her and laying her gently down on the bed, pulling a blanket up around her. "Get some rest, beautiful. We'll talk to Dustil and Master Uthar when you've recovered."

Uthar seemed not to have moved when Wren approached him several hours later. "You return, young one," he observed. "Do you bring evidence of your deeds in the valley?"

Wren bowed her head briefly. "I do, Master Uthar. First, I bring you the blade of Ajunta Pall himself." She drew out the sword and held it out to him.

"Interesting indeed. Tell me, young one, did you encounter any other initiates in that tomb?"

"I did," she said. "Shaardan was foolish enough not to verify the true nature of the sword I gave him. The vibrosword was in Ajunta Pall's sarcophagus, I didn't lie about that. But it was one of three, and I made sure to keep the true sword for my own prestige."

Uthar nodded with an appreciative frown. "Well played, young one. You outmaneuvered your competitor with the least amount of effort on your part. You have gained much prestige from this act, but you have not yet impressed me enough to declare you the victor. Is there anything else?"

"I found and killed Jorak Uln in the tomb of Tulak Hord."

Uthar's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Have you any proof of this?"

Wren held out the tablet that Carth had retrieved from Jorak Uln's corpse. "I believe these are some of his writings, yes."

"Indeed." Uthar took the tablet and examined it. "Well done."

"I also dealt with the droid in the tomb of Marka Ragnos."

"I heard reports of it blasting off into the sky. Is that the case?"

Wren allowed herself a smile. "Simply destroying it would have been too easy," she said. "I chose instead to alter its programming so it would launch itself into the sky and self destruct." She chuckled. "What can I say, I've got a weakness for a good explosion."

Uthar seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. "Very well. The droid is no longer troubling the archaeologists, at any rate. You have impressed me enough, I think, to become a Sith in full. Indeed, your accomplishments far outstrip those of the others—those who survived. Take the evening to prepare yourself. In the morning, I will take you and Yuthura to the tomb of Naga Sadow to administer the final test."

Wren bowed. "Thank you, Master Uthar. I'm honored."

"Rest well," he said. "You'll need it."

With a final nod of her head, Wren turned and headed back to the alcove where she'd left Carth and the droids. Carth got to his feet as she approached.

"Well?"

"I'm in," she confirmed. "Final trial takes place in the morning. If this goes how I'm hoping it will, we should talk to Dustil now. We'll need all the help we can get once the rest of the Academy figures out I've offed their leaders."

Carth clutched the datapad in his hand a little tighter. "Let's go then. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Dustil was sitting on his bed when Carth entered his alcove, Wren at his side. "So, you're back, Father," he said. "Do you have proof the Sith are evil, or are you here to tell me you give up because you were wrong?"

Carth held out the datapad. "You knew someone named Selene?"

Dustil's entire face changed. He looked surprised, first, then almost… _pained_ for a moment before he regained control. "Selene was the one who convinced me to join the Academy. She... died, months ago, on a mission to the Valley." He fell silent as he read, his eyes skimming to the bottom of the screen as his expression became more and more closed off. "This says that they…" He trailed off, but Carth finished for him.

"Killed her because she was hindering your progress. There's your evil, Dustil! Or can you live with that?"

Dustil looked from the datapad to Carth and back again, his expression more vulnerable than Wren had ever seen. "No, I… no, I can't. I had no idea. They… they _lied_ to me."

"Well there's the son I remember." On the surface Carth sounded almost exasperated, but Wren could hear the relief seeping into his words. "Now will you _leave_ this place?"

Dustil frowned, shaking his head. "No. No, I can't, not yet. I have friends here. I—I need to warn them. And maybe I can still help you. You know, from the inside." He looked over to Wren, who nodded.

"If you want to help, I've got a few ideas. Two initiates, Mekel and Kel Algwinn, have been brought around to seeing my point of view. Don't know where they've gone—"

"I've got an idea or two," Dustil put in.

"—but if you can find them, maybe you can spread the word to as many of your friends as you can. I'm… sincerely hoping that this _won't_ end in a bloodbath, but if it does I'd like to save as many Sith as I possibly can."

Dustil nodded. "I'll get the word out. There are a few other students who feel the same. And Selene had other friends. I might be able to convince them, as well. I'll track them down."

"Just be _careful,"_ Carth insisted, glancing at Wren before returning his attention to his son. "I'd hate to find you after all this time only to lose you again."

Dustil closed his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to Carth. "I know. And… if I don't see you again before you leave, I'll… meet you on Telos. When all this is over. Good luck. To both of you." He stood, rummaged in a footlocker, and strapped on his lightsaber before heading off down the hall.

Carth and Wren watched him go. "Do you think you'll see him again?" she asked.

Carth took a deep breath. "I don't know. If he's anything like I remember, Dustil hates to be tricked. He's not going to let this one go. I just… hope he doesn't get himself killed trying to start a rebellion."

Wren tipped her head to one side, eyes still on the spot where the boy had vanished. "He won't," she said. "He's strong. Determined. He knows what he's up against."

"Thank you," said Carth. "Really. Everything you've done, for me, for Dustil, I—"

She met his gaze and held it, seeing within all the emotions he couldn't yet give utterance to. And then, in one fluid motion, he took a step forward, one hand reaching up to cup her face, tilting her head up. And he kissed her.

The kiss was brief, gentle, _packed_ with emotion. It had barely even begun when Carth was pulling away, just a bit, renewing their eye contact.

"Thank you," he repeated. "We'll talk, but not here. It's not safe."

Wren nodded, unable to quite summon words. Instead, after maintaining their eye contact for a few more moments, she took the lead, walking back in the direction of her own alcove, thoughts whirring incoherently through her head faster than she could keep track of them.

HK was waiting, fully alert, when she stepped into the alcove. "Statement: HK-47 is ready to serve, Master."

Wren glanced behind her momentarily before shoving her tumultuous thoughts aside and turning her full attention to the droid. "Remember that droid from the tomb, HK?"

"Answer: yes, Master, though I fail to see how that is relevant."

"It gave me a few droid upgrades. Assassination upgrades."

She could have sworn the droid's eyes started glowing just a little brighter. "Joyous exclamation: why, Master, please install these upgrades at once! My circuits are practically quivering with joy!"

She grinned. "Thought so. Stand by, HK, I'll install the upgrades."

As she worked, she commed Canderous. "What's your status?"

_"Same as before. Ready on your command."_

"Excellent. The final trial is set for tomorrow—if all goes well, I come out of there alone. If we're lucky we can walk out without anyone being the wiser. But we've never been lucky yet, so I'm not about to start betting on our luck improving. I need you to be ready. If it all goes to hell while I'm in there, Carth will give the word. If it goes to hell when I get back, I'll give the word. My main hope for your little militia is that if we have advantage through numbers, we'll be able to convince some of them to surrender. I'd like to keep the death toll to a minimum, yeah?"

Canderous sighed dejectedly. _"All right. We'll be ready on your mark, Grua. Or Onasi's. And Grua?"_

"Hm?"

_"Gar shuk meh kyrayc.”_ [ _Mando’a._ ‘You’re no use dead’] 

She smiled. "Acknowledged. Grua out." She ended the connection.

"What if you don't?"

Closing the back panel on HK and restarting him, Wren turned around to see Carth leaning against the wall of the alcove, looking freshly concerned. "Don't what?" she asked.

"Come back. You're powerful, sure, but you're still a freshly trained Padawan, up against two incredibly powerful Sith. What if your plan fails?"

"It won't."

"But what if it does? You'll be trapped in that tomb, alone, no backup, with two Sith who are trying to kill you. It's not that I don't think you're capable, just that I've always learned to plan for the worst."

Wren frowned. "That's a chance I'm going to have to take. And they'll both be weakened. I can handle it, Carth. I promise."

He looked unhappy. "I still don't like it, but I don't see much of a choice. All right. We'll do this your way. But if anything happens to you…"

"I'll be fine. You worry about things here, I'll take care of Uthar and Yuthura. Speaking of which, I've installed some basic assassination protocols in HK from that droid in the tomb. I'm giving you full authorization to use them however you see fit. T3 will do whatever he can. Dustil will bring in whatever friends he has, along with Kel and Mekel. Canderous has whatever militia forces he's rustled up. And we've got the rest of the party, minus Bastila who will hopefully be staying in the ship at all times."

Carth nodded. "We'll take care of it. You should get some rest. You'll want to be fully recovered to prepare for whatever you find in that tomb."


	19. The Way of the Sith

The tomb of Naga Sadow was set up in a basic cross formation. The wraid within weren’t difficult to kill, exactly, but the one that got in a hit on her was going to seriously leave a bruise on her ribcage, maybe even fracture one or two. Wren winced, holding the wound as she continued forward, ignoring the side passages. The map—and the object of her test, the lightsaber—would be in the tomb’s innermost chamber.

She should have known it wouldn’t be quite that straightforward. Acid filled the adjoining chamber, wall to wall, so far across that she didn’t dare risk trying to jump, even with the help of the Force. After examining the chamber carefully to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, Wren decided it was part of the test.

There must be a way around.

Turning back, she returned to the fork in the tunnels she had bypassed earlier and turned right. She had a 50/50 chance of finding what she needed down this tunnel—an alternate passage, maybe, or something that would get rid of the acid. What she found instead was a puzzle—simple, but infuriatingly tedious. With an annoyed sigh, she transferred the final power system to the far pillar, triggering the lock on the next chamber and opening the door on another group of wraid which, predictably, charged the moment they saw her.

Wren shoved her hand toward it, channeling her frustration as she’d seen and felt before. A single bolt of lightning burst effortlessly from her hand, singeing her fingers as it passed through them but hurting the first wraid enough to keep it at bay for a few moments.

Pressing her burned fingers to her mouth, Wren backed away as the wraid regained control of itself and led its fellows in a second charge. She focused this time, focused on _what_ exactly she wanted it to do, and unleashed her newfound power.

She raised her hand above her head this time and the lightning descended once again, striking Wren’s specified targets—all four of them. She maintained the electricity this time, and instead of simply being wounded or kept at bay, within several moments all four wraid were writhing on the ground in agony. Remorseless, she continued the assault until the creatures lay dead, twitching from the remnants of the electric shock.

Wren held up her right hand in front of her face for a moment, gaze glossing over her burned fingers to stare at the hand in awe. She felt… _powerful,_ in a way she never really had before. The Sith, she decided, weren’t all wrong. Sure, their practices were dumb as bricks, and their philosophies, for the most part, followed suit, but this… the Force was a tool. Sometimes it could be used as a weapon. There was nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with embracing the _duality_ of the Force, rather than walking blindly into the light and ignoring the mere existence of the darkness. And it was equally foolish to let the darkness consume you while denying the power of the light.

If Bastila could hear her thoughts now, Wren reflected, she may very well faint with shock.

All that awaited her in the chamber beyond the dead wraid was a statue, much like the one in Ajunta Pall’s tomb, holding a sword. She strapped it to her hip. It could prove useful, or at the very least such an artifact would be worth a lot of credits.

Having thoroughly examined the room and determined that there was nothing within it that could help her bypass or dissipate the acid pool, she turned and headed in the other direction. The passageway was suspiciously quiet all the way up to the first closed door. Beside the door lay what was left of a mangled corpse. Not so mangled, however, that Wren couldn’t make out the Jedi robes. A datapad lay up against the wall, as though it had been carelessly thrown aside by its owner, just before entering the room.

Wren picked it up, switched it on, and scanned the contents. A cold chill of dread penetrated to her very bones as she read the concluding sentences.

_Even the second set of tracks outside the tomb cannot dissuade me from my task. One terentatek, two, a thousand… it makes no difference to me now. I hope my Master can forgive me for what I am about to do._

_Two terentatek._ She shivered involuntarily. The last time she’d encountered one of the monsters, she’d barely escaped with her life. Now she would be facing two of them. Alone.

She started pacing, back and forth, back and forth in front of the door. She could do this. She’d _trained_ for this. She just needed a plan.

_They’re immune to the Force. I was warned about this. Okay, come on, Wren, think. I can’t use the Force, so I’ll have to use weapons. But I can’t take them head on, so lightsaber’s not an option. They’d crush me in seconds. Blaster, then. No, bigger. I need to take them out as quickly as possible, before they even get a hit on me._

An image flashed briefly through her mind of the rancor on Taris, literally eating a grenade and being blown up from the inside.

_Bigger. Grenades._

Another image—the largest creature she’d ever laid eyes on, crawling determinedly from the lair on Tatooine, only to be stopped by—

_Mines._ She’d brought some, thank the Force. A solid dozen mines, ready to be used. But in order for that plan to work, she needed to remain hidden. Mind and body. Body was easy—she still had the stealth generator she’d been given outside of Marka Ragnos’ tomb. It would take care of any visual or auditory clues as to her presence.

Mind was going to be more difficult. She could remember Kashyyyk, as vividly as though it had happened mere hours ago, the tendrils of darkness reaching out, which had led the creature to target her and only her. She’d been trained as a Jedi, sure, but that didn’t necessarily mean she could fight off the dark influences in her mind.

She closed her eyes, folded her hands, and bowed her head so that her mouth was pressed against her knuckles. _Peace,_ she whispered to herself mentally. Focusing on her breathing. Letting go of her fear. Letting her mind be filled with nothing but determination—she _had_ to do this. If she didn’t, she failed everyone—Carth, Mission, Bastila, the damn _galaxy._

Failing wasn’t an option.

She opened her eyes, mind still blank of anything except that fierce _will_ to succeed, and activated the stealth generator. Transferring the mines to her belt, along with a few grenades just in case, Wren opened the door.

She didn’t see them at first, but she didn’t allow herself relief. If they were there, the need to stay hidden was _imperative._ Of its own free will, the door slid shut behind her.

_There._

To her left, each in one corner of the room, crouched two terentatek.

She set to work, quickly, silently. Each mine was set, in a line between her and the creatures. Thirteen mines in all. She could only hope they hit some of them on their way to try eating her. Task completed, she retreated once again to the door, paused for a moment to ready herself, and threw two grenades in quick succession.

They exploded within a second of each other, each targeting a different terentatek. As they charged her, Wren threw another pair of grenades before pulling her blaster. The air was filled with explosions and smoke—the second pair of grenades impacted the moment the beasts hit her improvised minefield. One fell as it stumbled across five mines in quick succession, the wounds too great even for such a seemingly invulnerable monster to shake off. The other, hitting only two of her traps, kept on coming.

_Time for Plan F,_ she thought cynically to herself as it backed her into the wall. _As in, I am totally—_

She didn’t even have time to finish her thought. As she drew her lightsaber, backed up against the now-sealed door, the terentatek’s claw slashed downwards at her. She stepped sideways, barely escaping as she pressed herself as far as she could go into the corner between the door and the wall.

_I really, really didn’t think this through._ The doorway was an alcove, the door was still sealed behind her, and the terentatek was blocking her exit. At this point, it was kill or be killed.

With a yell, she stabbed at the creature with the weapon. Up close, she could see it was in pretty bad shape—burns covered its body, blood oozing from some of the wounds that hadn’t been fully cauterized in the explosions. Her blade sank into a burn wound at the equivalent of its shoulder. It wasn’t enough to kill the thing, not yet, but it stumbled backward, screaming in agony—just enough for her to make a run for it.

Back out into the room she ran, slipping through the gap in the mines made by the already-dead terentatek.

It worked just as she’d hoped. The second beast, seeing its quarry escaping, charged after her and straight through another two mines that were directly in its path. It screamed again, stumbling, but it wasn’t finished. Left-handed, Wren drew her blaster. This was it. A single power blast, straight to the beast’s torso. Another. And finally, a Force-assisted leap directly onto its head and a stab downwards with the lightsaber.

The terentatek fell. Dead.

Legs shaking, Wren stepped down from its corpse, trying not to fall over. For a minute there, she’d been certain she was going to die. _Two terentatek._

But she’d survived, and she had to keep moving. She pulled the lever beside the door to the next chamber, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face as she did so. This had to be it. Some kind of side passage, a way around the acid, or—

The room was a dead end. No other exits, no hidden doors, just two pedestals in the center of the room, each holding a grenade.

She stepped forward to examine them, being sure to keep an eye out for traps. If she’d learned anything about tombs, it was that they were more likely than not to have traps set for the unwary. Still, she didn’t see any sign of deception as she stepped up to the pedestals to examine the grenades.

Both seemed to shine of their own accord. The one on the left had a silvery-blue glow to it, with a light fog emanating from it, while the one on the right glowed softly orange-gold with an aura of the same color. The silver one radiated cold as she held her hand over it, and the gold radiated heat.

_The acid,_ she thought. Burn it away, or try to freeze it. That must be the goal.

Making a snap decision, she palmed each grenade in turn, stuffing them into her bag when nothing harmful happened. The sooner she got this over with and got out of here the better.

She arrived at the pool having made her decision. Feeling in her bag for the cold sensation of the silvery-blue grenade, she pulled it out and threw it. As she’d expected, a sheet of ice spread rapidly in all directions, stemming from the point where the grenade had struck.

Testing the surface gingerly, placing more and more of her weight on it, Wren stepped forward onto the frozen pool.

It held.

Pushing off from one end, she slid across the surface to the other side, sparing a glance backwards as she made her way up to the final chamber.

Yet again, what she found matched her vision exactly: the trapped feeling, the crumbling statues, the sarcophagus, the claws of the Star Map opening to welcome her back…

The sight of the lightsaber, the supposed goal of her test, was enough to snap her out of the daze. Reminded of what was at stake, she took it, shoved it in her bag, and pulled out her datapad to copy the data from the map.

Uthar and Yuthura were waiting in the chamber with the frozen acid.

“So, you return to us successful, as I knew you would,” said Uthar.

“The Force has served you well,” Yuthura added.

“You took a great risk in acquiring the artifact. You used your mind and your power, no peaceful meditation, no pacifism.” Wren decided that it was  probably a good idea not to correct him on that point. “Sometimes you must fight in order to achieve. This is what gives you your power. This is what makes you superior. That is the lesson we teach with this part of the final test.”

“Part?” Wren asked, deciding to feign ignorance. “So there’s more?”

“Oh yes.” Uthar shot half a glance at Yuthura before continuing. “Here you will learn the lesson of competition. All life must compete in order to survive, to flourish. Such is the natural way of the universe. To stand still is to know death. So it is the same amongst the Sith: compete or die. Mercy is irrelevant. So it behooves you in this challenge to strike down one you are familiar with, for no other reason than to prove you are superior and without mercy. Normally this would be against another student. You, however, get a special treat.” He turned to Yuthura.

Wren held up a hand. “You realize that if this was anyone but me she’d kill them in about five seconds, yeah? It literally makes no sense for you to have a brand new initiate fighting your second in command. Great way to get your students killed.” She looked between both of them. “Are you both honestly so afraid that you went to the trouble of enlisting the help of some initiate in killing each other? I mean, come on, surely the all-powerful Sith have more confidence in themselves than that.”

Uthar and Yuthura looked at each other. “What do you mean, we both enlisted your help?” Yuthura asked carefully.

“Exactly that,” said Wren, walking forward and between them, crossing the acid pool as she spoke. “Uthar wanted me to have you poisoned. I gave you just enough information from him that you wanted to give me an edge, so you had me place that device. But you’re both wrong. I’m no Sith.” Her hand in her bag grasped the fire grenade. “And if my plan succeeds, today will be the last day of the Sith Academy.” She threw it. A moment passed as it landed at their feet.

Several things happened at once. Intense heat flared across the room as the grenade exploded into a brilliant column of orange fire. The ice that had crusted over the acid cracked and shattered. Uthar and Yuthura were both obscured from Wren’s view. And fumes started to rise from the acid.

Looking back on it, she was forced to agree that turning her back on the scene and running was one of the stupider things she could have done. Still, she was more focused on the poisonous fumes and less focused on the two Sith in the center of the cloud who were almost certainly dead. This time, though, she was lucky. As she ran, the thrown lightsaber fell short, grazing her back rather than cutting her in half.

Pain flared across her back and she fell to her knees, hands hitting the stone floor a moment later, forgetting to hold her breath, forgetting the fumes and the acid, forgetting everything except the burning pain and what it must mean.  She forced her head to turn, just in time to see Yuthura, half-covered in burns and practically manic with rage, bearing down on her.

Wren sucked in a breath, gathering her scattered focus to block out the pain, and shoved herself to her feet, drawing her lightsaber in time to block the incoming strike.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" Yuthura snarled.

Wren gritted her teeth, shoving back against Yuthura's lightsaber. "Thought the way of the Sith was betrayal," she replied. "Shouldn't you have been expecting this?"

"Why do you think I survived?"

Wren shrugged, hissing in pain when it agitated the wound on her back. "Luck? Energy shield?"

Yuthura didn't respond, just struck out again, locking Wren's blade with her own and pushing with all her might, trying to throw her off balance. Wren braced herself, pushing back, and then stepped to one side, redirecting Yuthura's blade with her own so the Sith stumbled past her. Caught unprepared, Yuthura lost her footing for a few crucial moments, and Wren took the opportunity to step around behind her. With barely a second thought, she stabbed downwards, shoving the tip of her saber through the woman's back and out the front of her chest.

Dead.

Wren took a deep breath—and exhaled in a fit of coughing as she inhaled the fumes that were spreading throughout the tomb from what was left of the acid pool. _Shit._ Doing her best to hold her breath (her lungs were bursting in seconds) she ran, heading once again for the tomb exit and hoping against hope that the fumes wouldn't escape into the valley.

She burst through the door, releasing her held breath in another coughing fit and falling to her hands and knees.

The door closed behind her as she closed her eyes, reaching into the Force around her to calm her breathing and attempt to cleanse her body of any lingering poison. Moments later, though, she was on her feet, staggering a little as her head swam. She squeezed her eyes shut impatiently, opening them a moment later, letting the haze of her vision resolve itself into Dustil Onasi, holding out a hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She gripped his arm for a moment to steady herself but nodded nevertheless. “What are you doing out here?”

Dustil pinched his lips together. “My father was worried, of course.” He glanced over her shoulder at the tomb. “Can I safely assume—?”

“Uthar’s dead,” Wren confirmed. “So is Yuthura.”

He nodded like he wasn't at all surprised. “The students are agitated,” he said. “Rumor has spread that there's a gifted initiate, and that she's gone into the tomb alone with the masters. Knowing the way of the Sith, they were expecting one of them to die in there. Now that you've defeated them both…”

“Will they attack me?” Wren dropped her hand back to her side.

“Likely,” he said shortly. “We have reinforcements, though, like you asked. You have a plan?”

She nodded, frowning. “Show of force. If we can get them to surrender, that'd be ideal. If not… numbers can do a lot for an army.”

“Come on, then. Father’s with the other renegade Sith, and your Mandalorian friend is waiting with his militia in Dreshdae. If something's happening, it should be now.”

 ______________________________

Carth, along with Dustil’s surprisingly sizeable collection of renegade Sith (Mekel and Kel Algwinn, along with a number of others Wren didn’t recognize) were waiting just inside the entrance to the caves.

Carth’s tense expression relaxed almost instantly when he laid eyes on Wren. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “What happened in there?”

She shook her head. “We’ll get into it later. Right now, we need to get out of here, preferably with as little bloodshed as possible.”

A short-haired, dark-skinned girl stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Am I to understand you’re the gifted initiate everyone’s been talking about? My name is Thalia May. My fellows and I have already tested ourselves against the great beast in the caves and emerged victorious. However, I fear we cannot face the rest of the academy without losses.”

Wren cursed. “If… shit, I didn’t think this through early enough. If they’d had a sort of leader figure to look up to who had chosen your path, it might make it easier. Or at least if it was just the students, and not the instructors as well. But now the lot of them will want revenge on me for killing Uthar and Yuthura.”

Thalia May blinked. “You’ve really done it then? You bested both of the masters of the academy?”

Wren shrugged. “All I needed was the element of surprise. That’s not the point, though. The instructors—”

Dustil coughed. “Won’t be a problem.”

She turned her head. “Why’s that?”

He coughed again. “You, uh, may recall upgrading your droid’s assassination protocol.”

Her eyes widened as a slow grin spread across her face. “Are you telling me you set HK-47 on the instructors of the academy?”

He nodded.

She clapped him on the shoulder. “You are officially forgiven for any and all horrible things you may have said to your father. At least, I no longer hold it against you.”

He gave a small smile. “Well I suppose I should be relieved. If you killed both masters, I wouldn’t stand much of a chance.”

She nodded. “So the instructors are taken care of. The Sith, even just the students, are still a small army. We have my crew, we have a small militia of disillusioned Dreshdae citizens, and we have you.” She switched on her comm. “Canderous, you there?”

_“I read you, Grua.”_

“Keep your troops on standby; I want them on hand if it comes to intimidation by numbers or a fight, but I’d rather avoid civilians in the line of fire if it’s possible.”

_“Understood.”_

“I want you and the rest of the crew guarding the Dreshdae entrance to the academy.”

_“That include Jedi Princess?”_

She thought for a moment. “...yes. All of you. HK is on his own mission, and—hang on, where’s T3?”

“Setting traps,” Dustil said. “Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ve got it worked out. Nobody’s getting hurt unless they have to.”

She eyed him. “Funny as it is, seeing how you threatened to kill me yesterday, I trust you. Canderous, the droids are on their own missions, so Carth and I will close in from this end with the rogue Sith as backup. How close are you to being ready?”

_“Close.”_

“Close the trap in fifteen. Go.” She turned to the Sith. “Students, pair off. You and your partner watch each other’s backs, no questions asked. Deal?”

A collective murmur of assent swept through the students. Wren stepped off to one side to join Carth as they began to pair off.

“Got my back, flyboy?”

He smiled. “I always do.” He held her at arm’s length for a moment, examining her in the dim light of the cave mouth. His brow creased in concern as he took in the burns. “What happened to you?”

She shook her head. “I’m all right, Carth, I promise. We need to do this now, while we still have a chance to use the element of surprise. If we don’t, they’ll get the drop on us, and we’d probably end up having to kill them all.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “They’re just kids, Carth. Kids who’ve been misled, and I mean it’s not like the Jedi are much better, but…”

He reached his arm around her and squeezed her arm. “We’ll do everything we can.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out through her mouth. “I know. It has to be done. Maybe if I tell myself that enough, it’ll hurt less.”

___________________________ 

It didn't really help, all things considered. The remaining loyal students were easily surrounded, and many of them surrendered, laying down their weapons and consenting to flee—some returned to their families, others set out into the galaxy to find a profession that would let them live another day.

The rest, though, set their jaws and hardened their hearts and swore they would go down fighting.

Wren fought side by side with Carth, making sure no one came near enough to hurt him, until Canderous and Bastila fought their way to their side of the battlefield. Satisfied that Canderous would keep Carth alive if only because she wanted him to, Wren exchanged a look with Bastila, reaching out to their bond in a way she never would have considered a few weeks ago. When their minds touched, it was like their thoughts were combined, and they darted back into the fray without the need for a signal or a plan.

They stood back to back in the center of an ever-closing circle of Sith, lightsabers twirling so fast they were barely more than streaks of color, cutting down anyone who even came near them. At last, Bastila unleashed a monstrous Force Wave, and those Sith who remained were knocked backwards, along with some of their allies who'd engaged them. The fighting came to an abrupt and chaotic halt.

Wren held up a hand, letting loose a single bolt of lightning which connected harmlessly with the ceiling and dissipated. Satisfied that all eyes in the room were now on her, she spoke. “The Academy has fallen. Those who remain, I extend to you the same offer: surrender, and escape to find a new life, a new future. If you choose to keep attacking, we will have no choice but to defend ourselves, and your lives will be cut short.”

One of the students glared back defiantly. “On whose authority are you acting?”

Wren leveled her gaze at him. “Do I need any other authority but my own? I killed Uthar and Yuthura in a single glorious victory. My forces have fought at my side and taken this Academy. My allies have dealt with the remaining Sith instructors. Even should you choose to stay, and live, there is nothing left to rebuild.”

Cowed, the young man looked away, hints of red creeping up his cheeks. In the minutes that followed, one by one, the survivors set aside their weapons and walked out. At Wren’s signal, they were permitted to leave.

Canderous and Bastila turned almost immediately to the dismantling of the militia. Wren, however, found Carth and Dustil.

“Thank you,” she told Dustil. “Truly. I don't know if we could have saved even half that many without your help.”

“After what you did for me? Glad I could help.”

She shook his hand and left the two of them alone.

Moments later, however, Thalia May approached her cautiously. “We've decided to strike out on our own,” she said. “The Jedi… well, many of us fear we wouldn't be accepted among them. And even if we were, we've embraced our emotions for so long I'm not sure we could let them go. So we will travel, and we will help people where we can.”

Wren shook her hand. “Then I wish you the best. Word of advice, though: avoid politics. They get messy.”

Thalia chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind.”

___________________________________ 

The crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ reconvened in the main hold a few hours later, having said their goodbyes and made their way safely into Korriban’s orbit.

“Thank you,” Wren began. “All of you. That was…” She blew out a breath. “A risky prospect at best, downright suicidal at worst. But we pulled it off. I have the map. And we’ve dealt at least a minor blow to the Sith, though with the Star Forge, the loss of a few students probably won’t make all that much difference in the long run.” She paused. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be pessimistic here. What we did was still damn near impossible, all things considered.”

“You did well,” Bastila put in. “I… should not have doubted you. I merely feared for your safety, with so little training and surrounded by the darkness on all sides.”

Wren gave her a small smile. “Funnily enough, I managed to find a fair bit of light there as well.”

Canderous cleared his throat. “So. Where to next?”

Wren straightened, returning to business. “Of course. Manaan is the only remaining planet, according to the Council’s hypothesis, that we need to visit in order to piece together enough data to find the Star Forge. I also need to make a stop back on Tatooine to drop off this package at some point.” She looked suddenly at Canderous. “You did get the package, right?”

“It’s in the cargo hold. That Rodian also mentioned about a dozen times that I should never open it.”

She eyed him. “Did you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say I wasn’t tempted, but I figured if you wanted to know I’d let you handle it.”

“Fair enough.” She inclined her head. “Set course for Manaan?” Her eyes swept the circle, looking for objections. When none surfaced, she nodded and turned to Carth. “Set course for Manaan. Dismissed,” she added to the circle at large.

They all drifted off in their separate directions, leaving Wren to follow Carth to the cockpit alone.

Silence fell between them. Awkward, strained silence. Neither of them spoke as Carth plotted the course and the ship jumped to hyperspace.

Finally, she forced herself to look at him. “Carth…”

“I know,” he said, not looking at her.

“Do you?” She tried a little harder to make eye contact, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the control panel.

“Attachments are against the Jedi code. Force knows I’ve heard it enough times from Bastila that I—”

Wren actually laughed, stifling it hastily when his expression didn’t change. “Sorry. It’s just...I don’t think they actually are. Not explicitly, anyway. And Carth, you should know by now that even if they were… well. I still feel the same about the Jedi as a whole that I did when we first met. Now there are just… a few notable exceptions. Well, one. Two, if you count Jolee.”

At last, he looked at her. “So what are you…?”

She smiled a little. “You’re the one who kissed me. I think it’s only fair that you go first.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’ll, uh… you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t get straight to the point, though.”

She inclined her head to show she was listening.

“The truth is… I’m, uh… I’m concerned about you. I’ve been keeping my thoughts to myself, mostly, but after everything that’s happened… I think it’s time I say something.”

“What are you saying?” she asked softly.

His brows furrowed, his eyes searching her face—for what, though, she couldn’t say. “I’m worried,” he said at last. “I’m worried about what might happen to you. You have a lot of courage, I don’t think anyone who’s seen you could deny that, and the fact that you’ve remained strong after everything they’ve put you through is… is amazing, but… there’s even greater danger ahead. I think…” He looked away, biting his lip. “I think you might be setting yourself up for a fall. Maybe at the urging of the Jedi, I don’t know… but you’re definitely going to become a target. You already _are_ a target. How many assassins has Malak sent after you, now?”

Wren shifted her gaze to the ceiling, counting on her fingers with a teasing smile on her face. “Three, six, carry the two… comes out to about a shit ton, don’t you think?” She stood, walking around the central console to stand beside his chair.

He smiled briefly, turning so he could face her, but then his serious demeanor returned, that intensity in his eyes. “Wren, I… if I’m gonna find some purpose beyond taking revenge on Saul, then it’s gonna have to be in protecting you.”

Her breath caught. Hearing him say it like that, blunt, straightforward, no room for doubt… she’d suspected that was part of the reason he followed her into the Academy, maybe she’d even hoped, but this was something else entirely.

His eyes shifted to one side, staring at something he feared, something she couldn’t see. “I don’t know why, but I think some… terrible fate is waiting for you. I think the Jedi Council knows it, too. And I don’t want that to come to pass.”

She frowned. “I trust the Jedi even less than you do, but… they need me, right? You think they’ve just thrown me to the wolves?”

He met her eyes again, and his were burning with the depth of his fear. Fear for _her._ “Don’t chalk it up to my paranoia just yet,” he pleaded. “Something isn’t right. I…” He ducked his head again, this time in shame. “I blamed it on you before, but I think… the Jedi didn’t tell us everything.” He stood, taking one of her hands in both of his. “Wren, please. If I’m going to live past Saul, I need you to as well. Let me protect you… from yourself, from the Sith; you have to let me try.”

She reached up with her free hand, brushing those stubborn locks of hair out of his face. “Why?” she asked softly.

He squeezed her hand. “Because…” He looked away again, searching for the words. “Because I never got the chance to save my wife and son. Because I didn’t stop Saul when I had the chance.” He looked back at her. “Because when I’d given up all hope, _you_ saved my son. You are… you make me feel like I haven’t felt in _years,_ like I might have some purpose beyond… revenge. I don’t know if it means anything to you, but it… does to me.” The look on his face was devastating. It was the look of a man who’d given all he had, who’d bared his heart and soul, and it filled her with a wave of emotion so strong that she felt tears prickling in the backs of her eyes.

She was speechless for several moments, staring at him open-mouthed. What had she ever done to deserve someone like him? At last, she gave up on the words and wrapped her arms around him. “You have no idea,” she whispered. “I… _thank_ you.” She could have said more. Maybe she should have said more, but the words that had been hovering halfway to the forefront of her mind for days now just wouldn’t come. So she just held him tighter, burying her face in his chest and hoping, _praying_ that in spite of all her cowardice, he knew.


	20. The Center Cannot Hold

The ship lurched, and Wren jerked awake, staring around wildly. Across the bunkroom, Mission sat upright, meeting Wren’s eyes with barely concealed panic.

“You all right?” Wren asked.

Mission nodded.

The ship lurched again. Wren jumped to her feet, pulling on her clothes as fast as she could and running for the cockpit.

_Carth._

He was at the controls, his hair messy and his clothes disheveled, like he too had just rolled out of bed. Canderous was in the copilot’s seat, looking far more put together. Must have been his watch, she thought, until another lurch shook her brain fully out of its slumber and into the present.

“What’s happening?” she asked at the same time as Bastila, running in.

“Sith interdictor ship,” Carth informed them tersely. “They must have been waiting for us on the hyperspace route. We’re caught in their tractor beam.”

“Can you do anything?” Bastila asked.

He shook his head. “Not much we can do at this point except keep the ship in one piece.”

“Do you recognize the ship?”

He nodded grimly. “It’s the Leviathan. Saul Karath’s vessel. My old mentor.”

Wren was at his side in an instant, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if to remind him _I’m here._ “Bastila, gather the crew in the main hold,” she said. “We need to work out a plan, and fast, or we’ll be stuck as prisoners in there with minimal chance of escape.” Bastila nodded and left with Mission. “Canderous, you go too, I’ll take over from here.”

He left without a word as she took his seat.

“Carth…” she began.

“I know,” he said.

“I have to say it anyway. I need you to hear it. You know I’ve been with you on this since the moment you told me, but I want you to be careful. Please. I know you… you’d planned on risking everything, up to and including your life, but I’m asking you… don’t die. I need you. I need you,” she repeated, closer to a whisper.

He wasn’t looking at her. “We’ve done all we can. We should meet up with the rest of the crew.”

She caught his hand as they both made for the exit. “Carth.”

He looked back at her. “I won’t do anything to endanger the crew, or the mission,” he said. “I… I can’t promise I’ll survive, but I’ll do everything I can. Okay?”

She nodded slowly. “I suppose it’ll have to do.” She squeezed his hand. “Just be careful. I can’t… I don’t want to lose you.”

He held her gaze for another long moment before the tension released suddenly and they made their way into the main hold.

“What’ve we got?” Wren asked without preamble.

Bastila spoke first. “The Sith will likely be watching the two of us very closely. Perhaps Carth as well, due to his relationship with the Admiral. If we’re going to have an escape plan, our hope will have to lie with one of the others.”

“I can do it,” Mission piped up. “Annoy them into putting me into solitary, then break out and get to you guys.”

Wren frowned. “Sounds risky. Any other options? It’s good to have a backup plan,” she added as Mission looked slightly affronted.

“I’ve got healing implants,” Canderous suggested. “I can trigger an explosion, make it look like I was trying to rig the hyperdrive, and delay my healing implants until they get me into the medbay.”

Wren nodded. “Still risky, but I like it better if there are two of you. Both of you, do what you can. Try and find each other in there, too, you’ll have a better chance if you stick together.”

The ship shuddered again.

“They’re dragging us into the docking bridge.” Carth’s face was a mask, but his eyes darted between Wren and Mission.

Wren nodded, trying to give him a reassuring look, and turned to the other two. “Go! Go!”

_____________________________ 

They waited in silence. All of them knew what was coming. All of them were trying to prepare themselves. Wren felt Bastila reaching out through their bond, though whether she was seeking comfort for herself or trying to provide it, it was impossible to tell.

The tension mounted. Wren chanced a glance over at Carth, only to see (as well as she could see through the Force cage) his entire body tensed, as though he might be about to snap at any moment. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his face was paler than she’d ever seen.

She felt Bastila again, stronger this time, and now she was definitely attempting to provide comfort. Had the circumstances been any different, Wren might have been concerned that Bastila could see so freely into her emotions, but, well, she had bigger problems. And it wasn’t like Bastila’s opinion had ever changed her mind before.

By the time the door finally opened, Wren was beginning to think that the waiting was the torture all on its own. That they would just be left until Malak arrived, stewing in their own fear. But it wasn’t Malak who walked through the door.

Carth’s eyes shot open at the noise, and when the man stepped through, his body tensed still further, if that was even possible. Seeing that left no doubt in Wren’s mind as to who had the responsibility—or pleasure—of interrogating the prisoners.

This was Saul Karath.

He addressed Carth first, subtly goading him, and Wren felt her insides twisting into a coil of fury. _Leave him alone,_ she wanted to snap, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t tip her hand—if Saul knew she cared for Carth as any more than a crewmate, especially this early on…

Malak didn’t need Carth alive. And that thought scared her more than anything they might do to her.

So she stayed silent, coiled like a spring and winding tighter with every word until Karath left Carth alone and turned his attention to Wren and Bastila.

“We will never serve Malak or the dark side!” Bastila swore. She believed every word she was saying, Wren was confident of that. Her confidence faltered, however, when Karath turned specifically to her.

“I wonder if your companion is as devoted to the light as you are.”

She wasn’t, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m not a damn traitor if that’s what you’re asking.”

He frowned, but thoughtfully, almost like he was evaluating her response. “You’re defiant. I’m certain that Lord Malak will find your loyalty to the Jedi amusing. He would probably reward me if I just killed you now, once and for all.”

Wren didn’t look away. Not only was she determined to be unflinching, but she couldn’t look at Carth. All she could do was mentally beg him to stay silent.

After far too long a pause, Karath added, “But he may want to question you himself, given the trouble you’ve caused him… and the history between you.”

What was that supposed to mean? The look he gave her was long and calculating and she had the very keen sense that he knew something she didn’t, something incalculably important.

She wasn’t going to let him know that, either, though.

“Cute,” she snapped. “So you don’t have the guts to kill me yourself, even locked up and defenseless.”

“Wren…” Carth’s voice was little more than a quiet warning, but it was enough. Karath’s eyes flickered to him, and Wren’s inevitably followed.

She didn’t need to look to know he was beyond terrified. It rolled off him in waves, reaching out to her, begging her not to take unnecessary risks. When she met his eyes, though (because he wasn’t looking at Karath, he was looking at _her,_ and _no, Carth, he’ll know, he’ll use it)_ , it was almost like their minds were linked, for the briefest of moments, and she _felt_ his emotions as if they were her own.

So much passed between them in less than an instant. Fear, concern, resolve. And in that instant they were in silent agreement. He would get nothing out of them. Whatever he did.

Karath turned back to Wren. “Unfortunately, Lord Malak is in another sector. It may take some time before he arrives. Until then, I suppose I will just have to fill in for him.”

She had no sense of the world around her at that moment. All she knew was that every inch of her body was in _agony._ She couldn’t move, she couldn’t _think,_ she couldn’t even begin to try to escape or call on the Force.

She thought someone was yelling, distantly. It might have been her. She wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t really care. Nothing beyond the endless, infinite pain was even real.

And then it stopped. Her body moved of its own accord, slumping over, but she managed to regain control before she collapsed completely.

“Are you all right?” said a voice beside her. Bastila? It must be.

It was a blatant lie, but she nodded. She couldn’t speak further.

“Enough!” Karath snapped impatiently. “I will ask a question. You will answer it truthfully, or suffer the consequences.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Saul. We won’t answer any of your questions.”

Karath shot an amused look at Carth. “I’m sure you won’t. However, you and I both know that your friend’s loyalties have proven in the past to be somewhat… flexible.”

There it was again, that _look_ that said he knew something she didn’t and was more than likely fully aware of the fact. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Try me,” she challenged.

“I’ve no doubt you have the ability to withstand any torture I may inflict on you,” he said casually. “But even the strongest of heroes have trouble watching those they care about suffering.” He pressed a button briefly, and Carth and Bastila flinched. “If you refuse to answer or answer falsely, your friends will suffer.”

She couldn’t look at Carth. She was too afraid it would break her. Instead, she set her jaw and stared Karath down. “Try me,” she said again.

“On what planet is the Jedi Enclave where you trained?”

She frowned. “Shouldn’t you already know that?”

Karath’s reply was to press a button to his left. His eyes, alight with dark glee, never left Wren’s face as Carth started screaming.

She went rigid, every ounce of her willpower consumed in one goal: _don’t let him see it’s working._

She knew the Sith knew where the Jedi were. They had to. Hadn’t Malak trained on Dantooine?

_How did I know that?_

Should she have told him? Just given him a straight answer because he already knew anyway, anything so she never had to witness Carth in that much pain ever again.

At last, he stopped. Carth leaned over, breathing heavily and irregularly. His eyes met Wren’s and he tried to smile, some kind of reassurance, but all he could manage was a grimace. She wasn’t particularly reassured.

“Obviously Lord Malak knew the Jedi Academy was on Dantooine, and it has since been destroyed by our fleet.”

She sensed Bastila’s twinge of doubt, mingled with fear. To an extent, she shared it. They should have been expecting it—she had been, if she was being honest; it was less a question of whether it would be attacked than when it would be attacked—but they also should have felt it when it happened.

She leveled her gaze at Saul, trying to give Bastila some kind of reassurance through their bond. “Then the innocents who died there will be avenged. But this changes nothing.”

“Save your empty threats.” He sounded resigned, like he’d heard it all before. “You’ve seen the price you’ll pay for your insolence.” His eyes flickered briefly to Carth. “Let’s try again, then. On what mission did the Jedi Council send you?”

Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Should’ve asked them yourself before you blew them up. You Sith really don’t think these things through, do you?”

Saul didn’t even bother to respond before pressing another button. Bastila’s torture field activated this time, and Wren felt a brief flash of excruciating pain through their bond before she was cut off completely.

Bastila didn’t even scream. Her face was screwed up, her eyes squeezed shut and her lips pressed together as she attempted to suppress her pain, to prevent Wren from feeling it.

At last, Saul released her, and she fell to her knees with an explosion of breath from her lungs. She knelt there, in the cage, gasping for the air she’d been denying herself in her effort not to scream.

Saul looked from Carth to Bastila to Wren. “Can you not see their suffering? Can you not feel it through the Force? You can easily prevent it. Just tell me what your mission is.” Wren just glared at him. He clucked his tongue. “Come now, you owe the Council no loyalty. What have they done for you, after all? Trained you, only to send you on a suicide mission?”

He had a point, but this wasn’t about the Jedi Council. This had never been about the Jedi Council. This was about the galaxy, and the people in it. Those she’d saved, and those she couldn’t save.

“Not. Happening,” was all she said.

Karath gave a small sigh and activated both torture fields. Wren watched, helpless, as Carth and Bastila writhed in apparent agony, trying their best to contain their screams but unable to hide the full extent of their pain. A well of rage was building up within her, filling her with nothing but the desire to obliterate Saul Karath from the face of the damn galaxy.

Carth collapsed first, followed mere seconds later by Bastila as they both lost consciousness from the pain. Saul waited a few more seconds for effect, then turned off the fields.

“I am surprised they did not pass out sooner,” he said, eyeing the pair of them with mock regret in his eyes. “Rarely have I seen anyone withstand such suffering and remain conscious.”

She could no longer contain that buildup of rage. With a yell, she threw herself at the wall of her Force cage, heedless of the burns it was giving her, just trying to strike at Karath, to get to Carth and Bastila, _anything_ but sitting here powerless for another moment.

It was fruitless, of course. All she could see was Saul’s taunting face as he watched her finally break. And when she’d given up, breathing hard, glaring at him through the side of the cage and wishing looks could kill, he simply sighed again and stepped up to the console one last time. “Very well. I shall leave you with a taste of what awaits you when Lord Malak arrives.”

For what seemed like an eternity, all she knew was pain. And then there was nothing at all.

___________________________________ 

She would’ve thought that maybe being driven to unconsciousness by torture would have granted her dreamless sleep.

No such luck.

_“I’m going back.”_

_“Anika—”_

_“I can’t stay, Revan. Our fight is won. We’ve accomplished what we set out to do. And now we should go back.”_

_She shook her head. “We need to ensure the enemy is defeated.”_

_Anika gave her a hollow look. “You killed their leader, took his symbols of power, and crushed their armies—"_

_“_ You _crushed their armies, Anika.”_

_She bowed her head, a few fragments of hair that had fallen out of her braid dropping into her face. “I did,” she said. Her eyes were shut, her expression pained. Finally she looked back up. “And I of all people can tell you that they’re routed. The Mandalorians are not a threat, Revan.”_

_She shook her head. “No. But they can lead us to the bigger threat. They didn’t act on their own, Ani. There was something behind them, something that’s lurking beyond my sight. I need to know what it is.”_

_She looked troubled. “Shouldn’t the Council be warned? If you’re certain of this threat, the galaxy should be aware of it.”_

_She shook her head again. “They’ll never send me. Or Malak. Either they’ll send some loyal Jedi with their head up their ass who has no idea what they’re doing, or—more likely—they’ll sit on their asses and ‘meditate on the threat’ and they won’t do anything at all. Warn them if you must, but I’m going to stop it, whatever it is.”_

_“Revan—”_

_“I felt what happened to you, Anika.” Her voice was quiet, but Anika froze, waiting. “Whatever the generator did to the planet was echoed in you. You_ feel… _different. Something’s changed about you.”_

_“You won’t change my mind, if that’s what you’re after.” Her tone was stiff, unyielding. But her eyes wouldn’t quite meet Revan’s. “Seek out the threat if you must, but if it is truly greater than the Mandalorians…” She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Do not hinge everything on your success.” And she walked away._

_She almost called out, almost tried to stop her. But this was Anika Surik. If there was one thing she knew about her oldest friend, it was that she could never be stopped._

 ____________________________

Her consciousness seemed to fade in slowly. The visions were replaced by whiteness and a ringing in her ears, both of which slowly faded into the sound of a moving ship and the darkness behind closed eyelids. She felt arms around her—someone was holding her, shielding her maybe. And the voice.

“Wren? You in there? Come on, beautiful, don’t give up on me now.” The arms around her tightened, and a familiar hand slid into hers, squeezing gently.

It was all she could do to squeeze back. In return, she heard an aborted intake of breath, and the hand in hers tightened its grip.

“She’s waking up,” Carth’s voice reported.

A lighter touch landed on her shoulder, applying faint pressure. “Don’t try to move too quickly,” Bastila cautioned. “You may not be quite recovered yet. Admiral Karath had his guards torture you even after you’d passed out.”

That made sense. Her body was… well, not in pain, not exactly, but there was a sort of _buzz,_ like a partial numbness through her entire body. It was… unpleasant.

“He tortured all of us, though you got the worst of it by far. Saul wanted them to make us suffer. He’s turned into some sort of… sadistic monster.” Carth sounded troubled.

“The dark side has perverted him, Carth,” Bastila said gently. “Once you start down the dark path, it leads you ever further into the depths of evil. I fear he is forever lost.”

“Damned excuses,” Wren mumbled, trying to open her eyes and wincing as even the faint light of the cell shot a lance of pain through her head. “Dark side’s a choice, just like everything else. Piece of shit’ll get what’s coming to him.” She blinked several times, finally managing to bring her vision into full focus. “Ugh,” she groaned. “Remind me not to get captured again; it sucks.”

Bastila just looked at her almost pityingly. Carth managed a tight smile at her joke, but the worry on his brow didn’t fade.

Taking a deep breath, Wren pushed herself up into a sitting position. Immediately regretting her decision, she lurched forward, as near to the far corner as she could get before emptying the contents of her stomach. “Ugh,” she repeated, crawling across the cell to sit against the opposite wall. Carth immediately moved to sit beside her, rubbing her back soothingly.

Finally, though her body was still shaking, she recovered enough to look at Bastila. “You all right?”

She already knew the answer—she could feel it—but she figured it’d be polite to ask. At least give her the opportunity to lie if she didn’t want to talk about it.

But Bastila shook her head. “I… suppose I’m taking the news of Dantooine’s destruction quite hard. First Taris, now the Academy… is there no end to the killing?”

“And how many planets can one guy destroy before he’s satisfied,” Wren growled. “But… shouldn’t we have felt… something? Could he have been lying?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’d like to believe that he was lying, but even as he said the words I knew they were true. The Academy is gone. But you’re right—we should have felt a disturbance in the Force when the enclave was destroyed. The fact that we did not is a bad sign. The dark side is growing stronger, casting shadows our vision cannot pierce. I… can only hope that some of the Jedi escaped. Vrook, Vandar, Zhar… I cannot imagine all of them being gone. In any case… well, I’m not certain you ever saw it as such, but we have lost our one sure place of refuge in the galaxy.”

Wren hugged her knees. “I’m… sorry, Bastila. I can’t imagine…” She trailed off. The Jedi, to her, weren’t that great of a loss. She was sure Bastila knew that, or at least suspected. But for Bastila… They were her family. That enclave was her home. Wren tried to imagine it… but could find no comparison. Her home was… well. She barely even remembered it. Now, she supposed, her home would be the _Ebon Hawk,_ her family its crew. And if she lost them…

Bastila gave her a wan smile. “I appreciate your sympathy,” she said simply. “I will be all right.”

Silence fell for a few moments before Carth spoke again. “What about you? Are you going to be all right?”

Wren nodded. Nausea still roiled within her stomach, and her splitting headache ebbed and flowed, but she had to be all right. “We have to get out of here,” she said. “Where’s Saul? Is he coming back?”

Carth shook his head. “I don’t think so. He mentioned Malak was on his way—I think he’s gone to prepare for his arrival. And to report the results of our interrogation.”

“Or lack thereof,” Wren added. “Or…” she trailed off into thought. Were there results? If nothing else, Saul knew beyond any doubt that Bastila and Carth mattered to her. He had probably guessed that, given enough time, torturing them would be enough to break her.

“It is fortunate that you were able to resist the Admiral’s questioning,” Bastila agreed. “The fate of the galaxy could be changed by revealing the slightest piece of vital information.”

Wren nodded. “I may not like the Jedi, but the galaxy is pretty important to me. Me living in it, and all. I’m not about to throw it to the wolves.”

Carth’s hand stilled on her back, and she looked over at him. His eyes met hers with… shame? Guilt? She couldn’t quite tell, except that it was accompanied by a considerable amount of pain, and it tore at her from the inside. “I… have to confess something,” he said quietly. Bastila paused for a moment, watching them, and then knelt facing the opposite wall and began to meditate. Wren felt some of the numbness and nausea beginning to recede. “I… there was a moment—just a moment—when part of me was… hoping you’d just tell him what he wanted to know… just to make the pain stop.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes as he said it—like admitting his moment of weakness was a failure, like he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

It hurt. So she did what they always did when one of them needed comfort: she took his hand, threading their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If… if I could have—I mean… I could have stopped it, that’s the worst part. I didn’t… I couldn’t… and it tore me apart. And now, just… the question. If it came down to keeping the information secret, or… or saving the life of someone I love…” She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against him, squeezing his hand tighter.

“I couldn’t have done it,” he whispered. “I… if that had been you, I couldn’t…” He took a ragged breath, still not looking at her, but gripping her hand like a lifeline. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

She met his eyes—raw, open, unshielded. She drew a serrated breath. She had never expected Carth to allow this level of vulnerability with anyone. But here he was… showing her everything…

She flinched suddenly. It was only an echo, but she’d felt it—triumph.

Bastila stirred at exactly the same moment. “Did you feel that? A disturbance in the Force. The Admiral has sent his message. Malak is coming.”

Carth squeezed her hand—a promise of _later—_ and nodded. “Then we better hope Mission and Canderous bust us out of here before he arrives.”


	21. All Jedi Lie, the Truth Only Gets in their Way

Mission was grinning when she opened the door. “Canderous is busy killing all the guards,” she explained smugly. “Meanwhile, I made a friend, hacked all the security cameras, released some insane rodians as a distraction, and opened the detention block. He’ll probably have the way cleared for us by the time we get out.”

Wren pushed herself slowly to her feet, heavily supported by both Carth and the wall, and hugged her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Mission hugged her back. “Wasn’t about to leave you in there.” They broke apart, and she gestured across the cell block. “Your stuff’s in there. Better get it so we can get out of here.”

Bastila stood, crossed to Wren, and placed her hands on either side of Wren’s head. Closing her eyes for a moment, she reached out into the bond, pouring healing energy into Wren.

Moments later, she pulled away. “You’ll need your strength,” was all she said.

Carth had crossed over to the lockers and was retrieving his equipment. “Mission,” he said, pulling out his blasters, “When all this is over, I’ll make sure you get a medal for this.”

Mission blushed and ducked her head, returning to the terminal so she could release the others. “Thank me when we’re actually out of here.”

Canderous entered the detention area just as everyone else was putting on the last of their equipment. “Good job, kid,” he said to Mission.

She shrugged. “You were a good distraction.”

“Nice touch with the crazy rodians.”

She giggled. “Couldn’t resist.”

Strapping on her lightsaber, Bastila turned to Carth. “How well do you know the ship? What will we need to do to escape?”

“We need to get to the main bridge controls,” he replied readily. “The bridge is the only place we can open the docking gates of the hangar where they’ve got the _Hawk.”_

“We’d better get moving. I can feel the darkness of Malak’s presence approaching.” Wren could feel it, too—the sense of triumph she’d felt earlier. The presence she felt, though, was… it was almost like a perversion of something painfully familiar. It was like she knew what she should have felt, reaching out like this, and what she found instead was… twisted.

She pushed it to the back of her mind. She could deal with whatever weirdness was going on in her head after they’d escaped.

“I don’t want to be here when he arrives,” Bastila was saying. “None of us is a match for a Sith Lord.”

Wren nodded. “We shouldn’t all go to the bridge. If Mission’s tampering did its job, they might not even know we’ve escaped yet.”

“Agreed,” said Bastila. “A small group has a better chance of sneaking onto the bridge undetected while the others make their way to the _Ebon Hawk._ ”

“Count me in, then.” The softness was gone from Carth’s gaze. His face was hard, his eyes blazing. “I’ve got a score to settle with the Admiral before we get off this ship, and I have a feeling that’s where we’ll find him.”

Wren locked eyes with him. “Then I’m coming too,” she said.

The concern came back almost immediately. “Are you sure? You were pretty badly hurt…”

“I’m not letting you face him alone, Carth.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bastila interjected. “The others can get to the _Hawk_ on their own, but Carth and I might need your help.”

Carth held her gaze for another long moment before relenting with a nod. “All right. The rest of you will have to find a way to deal with the guards down there.”

Canderous grinned. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I know how to deal with the guards. They won’t know what hit them.” He looked over at Mission. “Ready for round two?”  

Her grin matched his. Wren wasn’t quite sure whether to be concerned or pleased. “We’ll show ‘em!”

“Just make sure the _Hawk_ is ready to fly when we get there,” Bastila cautioned. “And may the Force be with you.”

The others set out first, led by Mission and Canderous, while the remaining three double-checked their equipment.

This was not going to be easy.

________________________ 

The alarm started as they stepped out onto the bridge level. Whether they’d triggered it or Canderous had was anyone’s guess, and Wren didn’t really care. All that mattered was that the entire level was now on alert.

Excellent. Really, just wonderful.

The troopers weren’t horribly difficult to kill, particularly not for two Jedi and an experienced soldier, but there were a _lot_ of them. But once Wren added a haywire assault droid to the mix, she’d have guessed that they were pretty evenly matched.

She should have figured the dark Jedi were inevitable. Though why they always seemed to come in groups of three, she had yet to figure out. Did they train dark Jedi squads the way they trained trooper squads?

She dodged a blow from one of their lightsabers, shoving the thought to the back of her mind. Maybe she was in worse shape than she’d thought, if that was the kind of thing running through her head.

She blocked another lightsaber strike, dodging around the dark Jedi in question and kicking at the backs of his knees. He stumbled, managing to keep his balance, but it was enough of a distraction for her to cut off his head.

She surveyed the battlefield. Bastila had engaged the other two Jedi while Carth stood in the doorway, taking shots whenever he could.

Wren focused, drawing from the Force to immobilize one of Bastila’s attackers in a stasis field. Seeing the opening, Carth took several shots at the dark Jedi, and when Wren released the stasis field, only one of their adversaries remained. Without the added distraction of an extra opponent, Bastila defeated her quickly enough, leaving the three of them somewhat more drained but still relatively unharmed.

“What’s the fastest way to get to the bridge?” Bastila asked Carth.

“A door through that hallway,” he replied. “But the alarms have probably triggered a lockdown.”

“So what, cut through the door?”

Bastila shook her head. “Even with a lightsaber, that could take time we don’t have. I can feel Malak drawing closer. We need to get to the bridge _now,_ is there no other way?”

Carth pointed to a door at the opposite end of the room. “Exterior walkway,” he said. “The airlocks won’t be sealed—if there are space suits, we should be able to make it through okay.”

There were space suits—five of them. It didn’t take long after setting out for Wren to decide she hated spacewalking. Every step was agonizingly slow—doubly so when coupled with the sensation in the Force of that unnervingly familiar presence coming ever closer. They needed to get there _now._ They needed to get there, deal with what was almost definitely going to be an ambush, and get back to the _Hawk_ before Malak arrived.

It was looking to be a very tall order.

They emerged in the other airlock and dumped their space suits as quickly as they could, leaving the pieces strewn haphazardly around the airlock as they burst into the next chamber, taking down the four troopers stationed within with barely a pause for breath.

Carth pointed to their left. “This leads to the bridge. Be careful.” His eyes flicked to Bastila before fixing on Wren again. “He’s not going to pull any punches.”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

The door opened on the expected ambush, but before the soldiers stationed around the bridge could attack, Saul Karath held up a hand.

“Very resourceful,” he addressed Carth. “I assume you had some part in this; you learned your lessons well from me.”

Carth’s fists clenched at his sides. “The only thing you taught me was betrayal and death, Saul.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Karath eyed the three of them scornfully. “I am giving you and your companions a chance to surrender. A chance to live. Darth Malak himself is on his way. He will be arriving at any moment.”

He was right. That presence was closer still, too close, still so familiar, still so wrong.

“He speaks the truth, Carth,” Bastila said, shifting restlessly. “I can feel the Dark Lord’s presence approaching.”

“Darth Malak will destroy you,” Saul stated bluntly. “But if you throw down your weapons now, I will ask my master to be merciful.”

Carth’s lip curled. “I’ve seen enough of Sith mercy.” His hands gripped his blasters, preparing for the inevitable fight.

“You always did like to do things the hard way.” Karath had an air of resignation about him as he drew his own blaster. “Lord Malak would have preferred live prisoners, but corpses will have to do.”

Either that was some sort of agreed-upon signal, or Karath’s allies took it as the invitation it was. They all attacked simultaneously—four troopers, two dark Jedi, and Karath himself.

Switching on her energy shield, Wren turned to deal with the soldiers guarding the door first—better not to be surrounded on all sides—as Bastila raised her hand and enveloped the nearby troopers and one of the dark Jedi who’d gotten too close in a stasis field. Unable to move, the guards at the door were dispatched quickly and easily by Wren, who now stood back to back with Bastila as she engaged the dark Jedi who was still mobile.

Satisfied that there were no more threats from behind, Wren spun until she was side by side with Bastila, taking a step forward to block incoming blaster fire from the two troopers who’d escaped the stasis field and trying to strike at the immobile dark Jedi. The mobile one, though, noticed her efforts and blocked her every attempt, keeping both her and Bastila at bay long enough for the stasis to run its course.

As Wren stepped to the side so as to engage the recently freed dark Jedi separately, she spared a glance at Carth; as expected, he was laser-focused on Saul, barely even paying attention to the rest of the fight. At least he’d had the presence of mind to switch on an energy shield.

The fight seemed to go by in a series of impulses—fragments of awareness. Wren engaged the second dark Jedi. Bastila found a gap in the defenses of the first, dispatched him, and moved on to the troopers. Carth continued to fire non-stop at Saul.

Wren was weakened—she could still feel the shakiness in her limbs from her torture, and it was that that was preventing her from getting the advantage. At this point, it was only thanks to the Force that she was even alive at all.

Then she remembered something. A trick she hadn’t tried in a while, something that had worked on dark Jedi before. Engaging her opponent one-handed (not without some difficulty) she reached for the blaster on her belt. Using their lightsaber combat as a distraction (mostly dodging strikes rather than blocking them) she lined up the shot, directly under her opponent’s defenses. She fired two shots into the dark Jedi’s torso. Then a third, just to be on the safe side.

The dark Jedi fell, and Wren shot her a couple more times, just in case, before turning to what was left of the battlefield.

Bastila had dispatched the remaining troopers, and Carth, it seemed, was on the verge of achieving his goal of vengeance. Saul had fallen, multiple burns through his clothing, propped up on one elbow and coughing as his heart rapidly approached its last beats. She could practically feel his life force fading as Carth stepped forward.

“It’s time to finish this,” he said, half to himself.

Wren took a step towards him. “Carth—”

Really, she counted it as a miracle that he even heard her at all. His head turned sharply to look at her, blazing fire in his eyes. “Don’t you understand what this man has done to my life? Do you know the pain he’s brought me?”

Wren did. Or at least, she figured she came as near as anyone could come to knowing.

Fortunately, Bastila was there to pick up the slack. “Killing him won’t ease the pain, Carth,” she insisted. “Do not become what you despise!”

“Not how I would have put it,” Wren mumbled, “but yeah. That.”

Carth looked like he wanted to say more, but Saul interrupted. “Carth… must tell you… must tell you something… come closer…”

As Carth moved, Wren put a hand on his arm. “Careful,” was all she said, and she let go.

Carth knelt beside Saul, leaning down as the dying man whispered… whatever it was. She couldn’t hear, however hard she tried.

Carth went rigid.

Saul gave a chuckle that was half a cough. “You didn’t know, did you?” He coughed more… or was he laughing? Wren didn’t know or care, her eyes were fixed on Carth, who was frozen in place, completely unmoving.

“Remember… my dying words…” Saul coughed. “Remember them… when you look at those… you think you… _love…”_ And he died.

Carth straightened up, slowly, every muscle in his body tense. “He’s gone,” he said, still not turning around. “He said… it can’t be true. Can it? No. No… no, it can’t! Damn you, Saul! Damn you!” His voice was shaking, and he finally turned to look at them—to look at Bastila. His expression was at war with itself—a chaotic mixture of anger (a lot of anger) and fear and betrayal and something else Wren couldn’t quite identify. “Bastila, it is true, isn’t it? And—and you _knew!_ You and the whole damn Jedi Council, you knew the whole time!”

Bastila took an unconscious step back, eyes going wide, blood draining from her face. “Carth, it’s not what you think. We had no other choice. Please, you don’t understand—”

“So _make_ me understand!” She’d never seen him like this—he was tense, shaking with the effort of containing his anger, while Bastila looked like she was on the verge of tears. “You _knew!_ ” he burst out again. “This whole time, and you let me—” He cut himself off abruptly, clenching his hands into fists and trying to calm his breathing. It wasn’t working.

“What’s going on?” Wren looked wildly from one to the other, trying to figure out what in the hell they could be talking about, but she was coming up with nothing. Whatever it was, she was as much in the dark as Carth had apparently been.

“Not here, Carth,” Bastila all but begged. “Please, there’s no time, Malak is coming, this isn’t the place!” She took a deep, shaking breath. “Please, Carth, I’m asking you to trust me. For just a little while longer.”

Resigned to remaining in the dark, Wren nodded. “She’s right. We don’t have time, we need to get out of here.”

Carth’s jaw was clenched, but he nodded. “All right, I’ll trust you, Bastila, but as soon as we’re off this ship I expect some answers.”

“Of course, Carth.” Bastila’s tone was almost placating. “As soon as we get to the _Ebon Hawk_ I’ll explain everything. To both of you,” she added, glancing over at Wren. “I promise.”

 ___________________________

The only good thing about their journey back to the elevator was that they didn’t have to spacewalk. Along with opening the hangar, the bridge terminal had allowed Wren to disable the lockdown, so they could get back through the quick and easy way.

Quick and easy stopped there, though. More troopers and dark Jedi kept pouring in from all quarters, and counter to their usual camaraderie, the three of them were fixed in a tense silence. Carth wasn’t speaking to Bastila and wasn’t even looking at Wren (which unnerved her more than she cared to admit), and Bastila was just looking enormously guilty, like she was a young Padawan trying to come up with a good excuse after being sent to the Jedi Council for discipline. All this conspired to make Wren _very_ worried, and it didn’t help that the familiar-but-twisted feeling of Malak’s presence was almost upon them.

The hangar level wasn’t much better than the bridge level. Far too many troopers, a few dark Jedi—but Bastila’s stasis fields and Wren’s lightning (Bastila pursed her lips but kept silent on that point) managed to clear the way pretty quickly. Through a window on the right, she could see the _Hawk_ down in the hangar below. Part of her was tempted to just smash through the window and jump down from here—surely they’d survive that, right? They were Jedi—but she knew it probably wasn’t a good idea.

Later, she’d wish she’d done it anyway.

They were approaching one of the last doors between them and freedom when it opened on its own. All three of them stopped dead.

Darth Malak, the twisted malice and the consistently unnerving familiarity radiating off him, stepped through the doorway, striding toward them confidently like he owned the place (which Wren supposed, in a roundabout way, he did).

“Darth Malak,” Bastila said, half a dramatic declaration, half a conduit for her fear—Wren could feel it coursing through her like the fastest damn river in the galaxy. At least, she was pretty sure that was Bastila’s fear. Not that she didn’t have her own to contend with.

Carth just started firing with a shout. Malak deflected the bolts with a flick of his wrist, bringing up his other hand and beginning to _squeeze…_

Wren watched with sickening horror as Carth was lifted off the ground by Malak’s Force Choke, grasping at the invisible force around his neck, trying to break out of a hold that couldn’t be broken. He struggled for air, for release, for _anything,_ but he seemed to be slipping away…

“Let him _go.”_ The voice, she was surprised to find, was hers. Who knew some backwater smuggler had it in her to backtalk the Dark Lord of the Sith, but she was beginning to find that there was very little that she _wouldn’t_ do for Carth Onasi.

Malak dropped him, eyeing her with a curious look but laughing nonetheless. Wren dropped to her knees at Carth’s side, already reaching for him in the Force—

Only to encounter resistance. Was Malak—? No, he couldn’t be. And Carth still wouldn’t look her in the face.

_He_ was blocking her.

Reeling, with unbridled fear clenching tight in her chest, she straightened up.

Malak had turned his attention to Bastila. “I hope you weren’t thinking of leaving so soon, Bastila,” he said. His voice was still his—still the voice she’d heard in her visions of Revan—but with a mechanical overtone. “I’ve spent far too much energy hunting down you and your companions to let you get away from me now.” He shifted his attention back to Wren, those yellow eyes scrutinizing her, almost like he was looking for something. Fear? Was he trying to find whatever strength it was that had enabled her to defeat everyone he’d sent after her? “Besides, I had to see for myself if it was true. Even now, I can hardly believe my eyes. Tell me, why did the Jedi spare you? Is it vengeance you seek at this reunion?”

He knew something. The same thing Saul knew, the same thing that he had—apparently—told Carth, the same thing that Bastila had been keeping from her the whole time.

He didn’t seem to _know_ that she didn’t know, though. And she wasn’t about to enlighten him. “This meeting was inevitable, Malak!”

“As is its outcome. I am actually surprised this confrontation did not happen sooner, given how powerful your mind once was.” He eyed her again, that discerning look he’d been giving her, like he was looking for something, not on the surface, but within… “Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn’t keep your true identity buried forever… could it?”

Was he saying… But her thought was halted abruptly as her vision plunged into darkness, retreating to the back of her mind and the depths of her memory…

_“The Jedi do not believe in killing their prisoners.” It was Bastila’s voice, sometime during her training, she thought. She remembered thinking that was pretty naive of them. “No one deserves execution, no matter what their crimes.”_

_“The Council would not normally accept an adult for training.” Zhar’s voice. “But this is a special case.”_

_“You are a special case,” echoed the voice of Master Dorak._

_“They say the Force can do terrible things to a mind.” Carth. “It can wipe away your memories and destroy your very identity.” He’d said something about not doing anything stupid after that, but she had no control over where her memories were taking her._

_“Considering your connection to Bastila and the Jedi—whether you know it or not—your presence here seems a little convenient.” She’d thought he was paranoid back then. Had he been right?_

_“Are you certain Revan is truly dead?” Vrook’s voice demanded. “What if we undertake to train this one and the Dark Lord should return?” No…_

_The visions started now. Each Star Map, unfolding, welcoming her back with open arms…_

_“Tatooine…” Bastila again. “Kashyyyk… Manaan… Korriban. Revan visited each of these worlds searching for clues to reveal the hidden location of the Star Forge.”_

_“The lure of the dark side is difficult to resist,” Vrook warned. “I fear this quest to find the Star Forge could lead you down an all too familiar path.” Familiar…_

_“What greater weapon is there than to turn an enemy to your cause? To use their own knowledge against them?” Had Bastila ever even said that? Were these memories, or had she reached into Bastila’s thoughts somehow?_

_Again, she found herself on that bridge, staring through the T-slit of a Mandalorian mask, twirling her lightsaber as Bastila, flanked by other Jedi, faced her down. But the attack came from behind. From Malak. She fell. Bastila looked into her face…_

_She was somewhere else—on a ship, maybe. The door closed as the room’s last occupant left. She turned to face the window—to face the reflection of the robes and mask everyone was so familiar with. And at last, she reached up, undid the mask, and pulled._

_She was faced with…_

_Her face._

_Revan’s face._

_Hers._

She returned to herself with a sharp gasp, shaking, stumbling a little to maintain her balance. Had she been more focused, she might have realized that the onslaught had happened in less than a second—there was no other way she could have remained standing.

But all she knew was that she was staring down Malak, and the familiarity in his presence made _so much more sense_ now. It terrified her. She couldn’t believe it, she didn’t _want_ to believe it, but…

Everything seemed to be falling into place. Like there was this one piece, this one huge piece that she’d been missing, and now that she knew—

“You cannot hide from what you once were, Revan!” Malak declared. “Recognize that you were once the Dark Lord… and know that I have taken your place!”

She couldn’t find the words. Emotions were building up within her, threatening to overwhelm her, and she could barely even _think,_ let alone—“H-how is this possible?” she managed, the words tripping over themselves on their way out of her mouth.

“You do not yet remember, Revan? The Jedi set a trap. They lured us into battle against a small Republic fleet. During the attack, a team of Jedi knights boarded your vessel. The Jedi strike team captured you and the Council used the Force to reprogram your mind. They wiped away your identity and turned you against your own followers!”

She frowned, shaking her head, trying to clear it. If she could just _think…_ “How did they capture someone as powerful as… me?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “I helped them, Revan. I always knew that one day the title of Dark Lord would be mine. When the Jedi strike team boarded your vessel, I saw my day had come. I ordered my ships to fire on your bridge. I thought I could destroy all my enemies with a single glorious victory. I never dreamed the Jedi would take you alive from the wreckage.”

That was when another piece clicked into place. _The Jedi…_

She’d always feared the Jedi, as long as she could remember. None of her memories seemed to line up with that, there was nothing in her past that could have caused it, but _this…_

The Jedi had _destroyed_ Revan. A fate worse than death, almost. They’d taken her and turned her into a mockery of what she had been. A shell, to do their bidding, to give them the information they needed to defeat the mess she’d left behind.

A puppet.

Finally, it all made sense. And she’d been right the whole time.

“Why,” she managed, and the syllable was cold and hard because her emotions had finally resolved into something she could work with. Anger. “Why wouldn’t they just _kill_ me and be done with it.” She _knew_ the answer, of course, but she needed him to keep talking, she needed to know more. Because apparently the Dark Lord of the Sith was the only one she could trust to give her a straight fucking answer.

“The Jedi are fools,” Malak said in answer to her half-question. “They do not believe in executing prisoners. Originally I assumed you had died in the battle. Imagine my surprise when I found out you were still alive, Revan.”

The anger was building. Everything she’d faced, _everything_ she’d seen, and she thought she’d been fighting for her own cause, but no. It was the Jedi. It was always the fucking Jedi.

She needed an outlet. She needed to get this anger out of her or she would fucking _implode,_ and there was only one Jedi around to take the fall for it.

She whirled on the woman she’d almost thought she could call friend. “Bastila. Is this true.”

Bastila shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes, paler even than she’d been on the bridge when faced with Carth’s anger. Understandable, she decided. Carth Onasi angry was one thing, but the Dark Lord Revan…

“It’s true,” she said at last. “I was part of the strike team sent to capture Revan… to capture you. When Malak fired on the ship you were badly injured. We thought you were dead.” She bit her lip. “Your mind was destroyed, but I used the Force to preserve the flicker of life in your body. We brought you to the Jedi Council. They were the ones who healed your damaged mind.”

Wren snorted. “Healed. Is that what you call this? How everything I can remember is a lie, how I can’t tell my fake past from my real past, how the only thing I’m sure I can trust is my until-this-point inexplicable fear of the Jedi?” She turned to Malak. “Want to put that in plain Basic?”

His eyes narrowed, but not maliciously. She might almost have said he was _smiling,_ except… well. Dark Lord of the Sith. “The Jedi Council didn’t restore your wounded mind, Revan. They merely programmed it with a new identity—one loyal to the Republic. They tried to make you their _slave!”_

_That_ was what really set her off. Because he wasn’t wrong. They might not see it that way, _Bastila_ might not see it that way, but that was what they’d done. They’d taken everything she was, destroyed it, and left behind half of a real person who occasionally had a thought of her own (and more often than not, that thought was _don’t trust the Jedi_ ).

She turned back to Bastila, desperate for a straight answer for once, terrified that she already knew what it was going to be. “ _Why couldn’t you just let me die?”_

Bastila still wasn’t looking at her, but she answered readily enough. “The Jedi hold all life sacred, even that of a Sith Lord. I could not just let you die, Revan, not if it was possible to save you.”

She was ready to go off about Bastila’s definition of salvation, but Malak beat her to the punch. “Bastila hides the truth behind noble words, Revan. The Jedi needed the memories buried deep in your wounded mind; there was no other way to bring them out. They _had_ to keep you alive.”

That was… more or less what she’d expected. It made sense. And it fit the image of the Jedi that Revan’s buried fear had given her.

Anger still unsatisfied, she whirled on Bastila again. “So, what? You just signed up to keep an eye on me? Make sure I don’t go back to the dark side? And for a minute there I actually thought you were my _friend._ You’ve been lying to me this whole time! Lying to _everyone!_ ” Here she risked a glance at Carth—his eyes were fixed on Malak, still determinedly not looking at her.

_I’ve already lost him._ She shoved the thought aside. She could deal with _that_ once she was done being angry.

“I wanted to tell you!” Bastila sounded almost like she was on the verge of tears—she probably was. In spite of herself, Wren felt a stab of pity for the girl—she hadn’t asked for this. Well, much. And it couldn’t have been easy. Still. That was no fucking excuse. “I wanted to tell you, but the Council forbid it! They were afraid you’d fall to the dark side again if you discovered your true identity!”

Wren scoffed. “And they just thought they could keep it a secret forever? Even without his help I’m sure I’d have figured it out eventually.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Malak.

“But now you know the truth, Revan,” Malak cut in again. “The Council has failed in their attempt to make you their pawn. The will of a Sith Lord is not so easily manipulated.”

She turned around to face him, and for a moment, she understood. She understood the familiarity of the presence—not as her former apprentice, but as her former best friend. And for a moment, there was a part of her that didn’t want to kill him—a part that wanted to embrace him, to go back to how things were.

But in a flash, she remembered his betrayal, and it _hurt_ this time, it hurt more than it ever had because when it happened she didn’t have time to think about it, and after the fact her memories had been suppressed. And she knew, in that flash of pain, in a wave of nostalgia and loneliness, that they could never go back. Her best friend, whoever he’d been… was gone.

She took all the pain that the memory had dug up, and she channeled it directly into her anger. Turning away from the ghost of her best friend, she faced Bastila one more time. “I trusted you,” she said, voice tight, each word a weapon. “And you _used_ me. My instincts told me not to trust the Jedi—I guess that was what was left of Revan, trying to warn me what they did to me, trying to tell me they were _using_ me, that _you_ were using me. And isn’t it just ironic when the only one who’ll give you a straight answer is your worst enemy.”

Bastila’s tears finally started coming, then—whether they were born of fear or sadness or just stress was anyone’s guess. “How can you say that?” For a moment, Wren _almost_ believed she was sincere, before she remembered who she was talking to. “Malak nearly killed you, but the Jedi Council gave you another chance to live! They gave you a chance to redeem yourself by defeating Malak and the Sith!”

Malak scoffed. “A rash and futile hope. The dark side is too strong, my powers are too great. Even my old master is no longer a match for me! A small part of me has always regretted betraying you from afar. I always knew there were some who would think I acted out of fear, that I did not want to face you. But now fate has given me a second chance to prove myself. Once I defeat you in combat no one will question my claim to the Sith throne; my triumph will be complete!”

But she wasn't about to let him have any more satisfaction. “Triumph, Malak?” she taunted. “You seem to forget that I’m still alive!”

“The Jedi Council were foolish to let you live. I won’t make the same mistake. We shall finish this alone in the ancient Sith tradition: master versus apprentice, as it was meant to be!”

With a wave of his hand, Carth and Bastila were immobile, frozen in a stasis field. Malak drew his lightsaber with a flourish, even as she drew hers.

This shouldn’t be possible. She was still weakened from the torture, she hadn’t even recovered fully after the fight on the bridge. But somehow, the revelation that she was Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, had done something for her. She _felt_ stronger, like somehow there was more power within her that she never could have guessed at.

Maybe it was just because she believed it. Maybe it was because, as Wren Grua knew it, Revan was the epitome of _power,_ _strength, strategy—_ things Wren figured were pretty damn useful in a fight.

Maybe it was because she was fighting Malak.

She was pushing him back—or was he doing it on purpose? Was he trying to give her a false sense of security so she’d press her advantage and fall into his trap?

Was Malak that clever?

She couldn’t remember, and it was driving her crazy. But she pressed ahead. If he _wasn’t_ that clever, she needed to take advantage of the opportunity. If he _was…_ hopefully she’d see the trap before it was sprung.

The memory hit her all at once—Malak’s fighting style. Well, his main one. There were others. But it was always physical superiority. _Strength._ Revan was short and she knew it—she relied on her dexterity. But weakened as she was, she didn’t have quite the edge she usually did.

She heard a couple of thuds from behind them and deduced that the stasis field had worn off. Carth knew better than to get involved—if he even wanted to save her. Again, she pushed the thought aside. _Deal with it later_.

Bastila, though…

She heard them talking but couldn’t focus enough to distinguish words. All her energy was being poured into _surviving_ as Malak turned the tables on her, pressing her backwards—

A wave of Force came out of nowhere, knocking both of them off their feet. Both of them leaped up almost instantly, but it was enough. Bastila threw herself between them, attacking Malak with everything she had as Wren stood by helplessly, knowing that if she tried to get involved now she’d just get Bastila killed.

“I’ll hold Malak off!” she cried in between parries. “You two get out of here! Finish our mission!” She pushed him through another door, leaped after him, and closed it behind them.

Wren stared at the door. “Shit, shit, _Bastila!_ You can’t just—they _need_ you!” She ran at the door, trying to open it, but it was sealed. “ _Bastila!”_ she shouted, pounding on it with her fist. _That’ll bruise later,_ she thought dully as she registered the pain, and then there was an arm around her waist, pulling her back, dragging her away from Bastila and toward the hangars, where she _really_ should have just jumped down to the _Hawk_ and avoided this whole mess.

“We can’t help her!” It was Carth’s voice, and _at least he’s talking to me,_ unless he was talking to the floor. She couldn’t quite tell. He put her down and gave her a shove in the direction of the hangar.

She took the hint.

The two of them ran for it, ran onto the _Hawk,_ ran to the cockpit, dodging all the questions that followed them in.

The _Ebon Hawk_ took off, taking with it her entire crew—except for one.

Wren watched the Leviathan disappear as Carth made the jump to hyperspace, silently praying for Bastila’s sake that Malak would just kill her and be done with it.

She knew better.


	22. Riddles in the Gray

"Where's Bastila?" Jolee voiced the question, but everyone was thinking it. "What happened on that ship?"

"We ran into Malak." Carth's eyes were fixed determinedly on the center console. He still hadn't looked at Wren. "He would have killed us, but Bastila sacrificed herself so we could get away."

Mission uttered a small gasp. "You mean she's—she's _dead?_ "

Jolee waved a hand. "Bah. Malak won't kill her, don't be foolish. He'll want to use her battle meditation against the Republic. Turn her to the dark side and the Sith will always be victorious."

Wren was staring at the center console, fluctuating between the last dregs of her anger and the crushing heartbreak that had been threatening to overwhelm her since she found out why Carth wouldn't look at her, since she’d learned Bastila had used her. "It should have been me."

"Don't say that—"

"It was _my_ fight, Mission!" she burst out. "My problem, my solution. Then you wouldn't have to worry about Malak getting a new secret weapon, either."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that." Carth's gaze hadn't moved from the center console, but at least he'd sort of addressed her.

"He'd have killed me, Carth," she snapped. "You're not the only one who thinks I'm too dangerous to be kept alive. Wouldn't you rather if Bastila were here right now and I was left behind? Wouldn't you rather know for certain that one dark lord or the other would die today?"

"Dark Lord?" Mission's gaze shot from one to the other quicker than Wren could follow it. "What are you talking about?"

Wren turned to her and held out her hand sarcastically. "Nice to meet you. Revan comma Darth, former dark lord of the Sith, previously thought deceased, _actually_ mind wiped by the Jedi like a fucking droid. At your service."

Mission stared at Wren's hand, then at her face, then back at her hand. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Carth huffed a mockery of a laugh. "No, it's no joke. The Jedi Council captured Revan and erased the dark lord's mind, programming in a new identity. Saul Karath told me on the Leviathan, and Malak and Bastila confirmed it."

Wren dropped her hand. "They should have just let me _fucking_ die," she snapped. "Memories or not, who's gonna trust me now?" _Not Carth,_ she answered her own question. And yet again, the implications of all this hit her with full force. _He'll never trust me again._

Mission was eyeing her cautiously. _"Do_ you remember anything about being the dark lord?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes. Flashes of memory, the visions of the Star Maps. Nothing's really clear."

Mission looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Just a few flashes. That's it. Nothing more?" She crossed her arms and surveyed the group. "Then I don't think there's a problem." She looked back at Wren, a warmth in her gaze that she hadn't been expecting. "It seems to me that if you don't really _remember_ anything about being Revan, it doesn't really matter anymore. You are who you are now… right?"

Carth's fists clenched at his sides. "Of _course_ it still matters! How do we know more memories won't come flooding back? How do we know Revan won't suddenly turn on us?"

_Because I'm still me, damn it,_ she wanted to yell. _Because I'd never turn on the people I love._ But she was a Sith Lord now. She doubted Carth even thought her capable of love anymore.

Instead, she set her jaw, crossing her arms in the hope of hiding the way her hands were shaking. "Then _finish the fucking job, Carth,_ " she challenged. "You told me you want to put a blaster to Revan's head, well here I am. Don't let me stop you."

Carth's whole body tensed, and for a moment she wondered if he'd actually do it, but Mission stepped between them, staring Carth down. "You've got nothing to apologize for," she insisted. "You didn't _ask_ for this. And whatever you used to be, you're one of us now. I don't see the Sith Lord standing here—I see a friend who's been with us through thick and thin! Remember, Malak's the one who destroyed Taris!"

**"I agree with Mission,"** Zaalbar spoke up for the first time. **"I swore a life-debt to the person you are, not to the person you were."**

Mission nodded at him proudly. "Big Z and I will stick by you. We owe you our lives! More than that, you're family. We’re not leaving you now."

Wren nodded slowly, putting one hand against the wall behind her for support as gratitude for the pair of them overwhelmed her. _"Thank you,"_ she whispered. Mission shot her a quick smile.

"How can you say that, Mission?" Mission's show of support, far from easing Carth's worries, seemed to have compounded them—he was almost as tense as he had been when they'd confronted Karath. "The Sith bombed my homeworld! Revan took away my family and destroyed my life!"

He wasn't wrong, and that was the worst part. Her actions had directly led to his years of misery and mistrust. He had suffered immeasurably because of her.

She was on the verge of apologizing again for what she couldn't remember doing when Canderous stepped in beside Mission. "Everyone knows it was Malak who gave the order to attack your people, Carth. You can't blame Revan for that."

_Yes he can,_ she thought bitterly.

Carth blew out a breath. "I suppose you've proven yourself to be a friend of the Republic by your actions so far… Revan. But can I trust you? Can any of us?"

Canderous immediately turned to face her. "You defeated the Mandalore clans in the war, Revan," he said. "You were the only one in the galaxy who could best us. We had never met one like you before, and never since. How could you even doubt I'll follow you?" He grasped her arm in the Mandalorian handshake. "Whatever you’re fighting, it will be worthy of my skill. I'm your man until the end, Revan, no matter how this plays out."

She gripped his arm in return. _"Vor entye, ner vod."_ [Mando'a. 'Thank you, my brother.'] She squeezed his arm tighter for a moment before releasing it and turning to her right. "What about you, Jolee?"

He gave her a wry smile. "What about me? If I had an issue with you being Revan, I never would have taken you to the Star Map on Kashyyyk."

She blinked. "You knew?"

He nodded. "It wasn't my place to tell you, but yes, I knew. Better off now that you know, if you ask me. Does it change anything? I'm not here to judge you. You'll do what you have to do, and I'll help if I can."

Wren nodded, satisfied. Well, mostly. But she'd worry about that later.

T3 beeped cheerily, and Wren smiled.

"I knew the little guy would come through for you," Mission remarked. _"Droids_ don't hold _grudges._ " She glared at Carth for several awkward moments before they were interrupted again, this time by HK-47.

"Commentary: I am experiencing something unusual, master."

She tensed. "What's happening?"

"Answer: My programming is activating my deleted memory core. I believe I have a… a homing system that is restoring it, master."

"So… what is that, exactly?"

"Observation: My homing system is a function of my assassination protocols… that which I told you had been deactivated. This system was not. It seems that the homing system deliberately restores my deleted memory core upon… upon returning to my original master."

Wren's eyebrows shot up. "You mean… _Revan?_ "

"Affirmation: Correct, master. Sith protocols maintain that all droid knowledge be deleted before assassination missions and restored upon return. I have returned to you, and my full functionality is now under your personal command. It is a distinct pleasure to see you again, master."

"That… makes a lot of sense, actually."

"Indeed. I hope that we shall have the opportunity to enter combat together again soon, master."

Mission laughed disbelievingly. "Wow. What are the chances of that happening?"

"Remember we're talking about the Force here," Canderous pointed out. "At this point Malak himself could drop out of the sky and I wouldn't bat an eyelash."

"Good point."

Silence fell, and tension soon followed. She couldn't look at him.

Finally he broke the silence. "Well the others seem to trust you… and I don't see any other way that we can stop the Sith. And I suppose that Malak is the real enemy here… I really don't have any other choice, do I?" He sighed. "Don't worry. I won't let my personal feelings get in the way of my assignments or this mission. But don't forget, I've sworn an oath to protect the Republic. As long as this mission stays on course, I'm with you. But I won't let you betray the Republic under any circumstances."

That… hurt. That he thought she'd changed so much, just by _knowing_ who she was…

Abruptly, she pushed off the wall and left the main hold, heading for the cargo hold. As her footsteps echoed in the silence she left behind, one thought echoed endlessly in her mind.

_He'll never trust me again._

 __________________

The cargo hold provided more of a distraction than she ever could have dreamed. Because sitting in the middle of the floor, innocuous, was the box Canderous had gotten from the rodian on Korriban.

_Don't open the box,_ the rodian had insisted. She'd asked if it was dangerous and he hadn't answered. Just said not to open it.

Reason enough for her to disregard him, really. And if the box was dangerous, maybe it'd be enough of a distraction from the shit that was her life at the moment.

She twisted the top bit and the sides peeled open, looking almost like one of the Star Maps spreading its petals to welcome her. And then a beam of light hit her, straight in the face, and she knew no more.

Everything was white. If she had to guess, she'd probably say she'd been transported to some… plane of blankness. It was just… empty. Except—

There. An alien, among some pillars, with a simple cot beside him. Just existing in the blankness. Seeing little alternative other than disappearing into the white (not that a part of that wasn't appealing, really), she approached.

**"Greetings, sentient,"** the alien said in a language she couldn't identify but somehow understood. Something Revan had learned when she disappeared into the unknown, probably. **"Hm, bipedal, opposable thumbs, far less hair than the last one… I suppose you'll do.** "

She frowned. "…do?"

**"For a body, of course,"** the creature said.

She blinked twice. "…excuse me?"

**"Perhaps I should start from the beginning. I've had so long to think it over, I do tend to jump straight into things."**

"…have at it, then."

**"My name is… ah, I do not recall. No matter. I have been imprisoned here for…"** He paused, counting on his fingers. **"Four, seven, no, no, I was never good with numbers. Thousands? Many, many years,"** he concluded.

"And, uh… where is 'here,' exactly?"

**"Have you not yet guessed, sentient? It is a prison of the mind. My people sentenced criminals, not to just a lifetime in prison, but an eternity. My body is long dead, but my mind will remain here, unless I manage to find some means of escape."**

"But if your body's dead…"

**"You approach the heart of the matter, sentient. My body is gone, but yours is ripe for the taking. However, I cannot occupy your body without your consent. Nor can you return to it without mine."**

One of her eyebrows lowered. "I guess we're at an impasse, then."

**"So it would seem. However, as I said, I have had many years to think on this matter. If I may propose a solution…"**

"Hold up a second. You said you're a criminal. What did you do?"

He sighed. **"Alas, I cannot recall my crime any more than I recall my name, or my people. For many years, I have simply… existed."**

She huffed a breath. "So in a way, someone you used to be did something horrible, and you don't even remember what you're being punished for. I… can relate." She eyed him. "How are you not completely insane? It must have been thousands of years you've been in there, alone."

He gave what must have been a shrug. **"Perhaps I went mad long ago and even I have not noticed. No matter. May I propose my solution?"**

"Go for it."

**"We must engage in a contest. Not a test of strength, for neither of us has any idea of the other’s martial prowess, but of the mind. A game of riddles."**

"Riddles, huh? Yeah, I think I've got a few. And no funny business if I win?"

**"You have my solemn word."**

"One request, though. Maybe don't… send me back just yet. I could use the escape."

**"…An odd request, certainly. Should you win, I will comply."**

"I appreciate it."

**"Since this is, as you might say, my home, I shall begin:** **_Until I am measured I am not known, yet how you miss me when I have flown_** **."**

Wren frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “Time.” She didn’t know if her memories of her smuggling crew were all fabricated. She had no idea what was real and what wasn’t, but somewhere along the line, in reality or in her false life, she’d played riddles too.  

He nodded. **“Yes, yes, yes, I suppose that was an easy one. Perhaps I should have used all this time to think of harder riddles, hey? Fair is fair, sentient. Your turn.”**

"Oh. Uh, all right. Give me a moment. Let's see… _I never was, yet always will be. I am never seen, yet always come. I carry nothing, but hold much for some.”_

**“Hmmm… never was, but will be… tomorrow! Tomorrow it is!”**

She nodded.

**“Very clever, sentient, but it is my turn once again!** **_If you break me I do not stop working. If you touch me, I may be snared. If you lose me, nothing will matter.”_ **

That… touched a little too close to home, really, but that was what made it easy. “Your heart,” she said quietly.

**“Very good, sentient, very good. Your turn.”**

_“What has roots that nobody sees, is taller than trees (usually), up, up it goes, and yet never grows?_ "

**"Hmmm…"** His bulbous eyes closed in concentration. **"What manner of plant could—no, no, never grows, it cannot be a—a mountain!"**

She pinched her lips together. "Correct."

**"Fair is fair, sentient.** **_I am always hungry, must always be fed. The finger I lick will soon turn red."_ **

Her mind was blank. Whatever games she’d played in the past, this hadn’t been a commonly repeated riddle. For a moment, she wondered… if she tried, could she give herself one of the flashbacks?

She closed her eyes, reaching into the depths of her mind, unsure if she could even do what she was about to try, but—

_A battlefield, long dead but for one thing—the fires still burning. They would burn for years to come._

"A flame," she said, centering herself. "A flame."

**"Well done, sentient. Your turn."**

She took a deep breath and blew it out. _“You heard me before, yet you hear me again. Then I die, until you call me again.”_

**“Ah! I believe I have heard this one, sentient. An echo!”**

She just nodded.

**_"Who makes it has no use for it, who buys it has no need of it, who uses it has no knowledge of it."_ **

"A grave." She focused on one of his eyes. "I could pretend it's not slightly concerning that I got that so quickly, but…"

**"Fair is fair. Go on."**

"All right, I've got a different one for you. _Flying to Dantooine I met five ships. Each ship has five crewmen, each crewman has five pets. How many in all are flying to Dantooine?_ "

He blinked, flinching a little and blinking again. **"Not numbers! No! Wait. Five, carry the seven…"** He trailed off, muttering to himself. **"Ninety-two! No, wait. Ninety-four! Is it ninety-four?"**

She smiled in spite of herself. "It's one. I'm the only one flying to Dantooine."

He released a string of expletives that Revan apparently didn't know. **"Very well. You have bested me, fair and square. I can send you back whenever you wish."**

She nodded. "All right. Just… not yet."

They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again.

"You mentioned others. What happened to them? Did they defeat you as well? Or are they…?"

**"Some have defeated me, yes. Others… grew angry. Wandered off. They're out there, somewhere, I expect. In the white. If you wandered far enough, you might even find them, though I wouldn't recommend it."**

"Will I be able to come back? Once you've released me, I mean?"

**"No one has ever tried. Or if they have, I didn't know about it. I doubt it, sentient. You must continue to exist in your own body."**

"Should've known it was too much to hope."

He seemed to have nothing to say to that, so they just sat in silence; he regarded her with something she thought might have been curiosity, or maybe pity, and she just sat, unwilling to give thought to returning just yet. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to face a world in which she was Darth Revan and Carth hated her. She wasn't ready to face a world in which she was everything she thought she'd been fighting against.

**"You are running from something, are you not?"**

His voice startled her momentarily and she considered lying, but what harm would it do for him to know the truth? He'd said he was a criminal too, after all. If anyone had a chance of relating… well, it seemed she'd found him at the right time. "Yeah, you could say that. I… just learned that part of my memory was destroyed, replaced with false memories to hide the fact that I used to be a dictator who tried to conquer the galaxy. I don't… I don't _remember_ being her, but it doesn't matter, and now half my friends don't trust me, or they shouldn’t if they do, one of them hates me, and the rest…" She sighed. "I don't know what to think. I know I have to go back, but I don't… how am I supposed to face them? Knowing what I was? And you probably don't have any better answers, but you have no stake in it, so…" She trailed off.

**"If you chose to, you could simply remain here. But your body would die and decay, and then we would both be trapped, victims of our pasts. I can assure you that it is not a pleasant fate."**

"So you're saying if I don't go back I'll never die and I'll be stuck here forever like you, is that it?" She sighed again. "Of course. I guess I'll go back then. Immortality has never appealed to me. I… if you'd like, I can try to destroy the box."

**"I doubt any weapon you hold could harm it. I appreciate the offer, however."**

She nodded. "Thank you. This was… an escape I sorely needed."

**"Close your eyes, sentient."**

He knelt, and she did as he asked. Slowly, sensation faded back into her body, and she became aware of a cold floor pressed against her face. _It worked._ It was about the only thought she had time for before she was slipping away again, back into unconsciousness or sleep or whatever it was people were calling it these days.

 ______________________

She awoke again some time later—how much time was impossible to tell. As she groaned and stirred, rolling into a sitting position and trying to rub away the marks left on her face by the floor, she realized she wasn’t alone.

“I thought about what you said,” said Carth slowly. He still wasn’t looking at her, damn him. “You were right.”

She had about three and a half seconds to wonder which part she had been right about when his hand drew his blaster, aiming it steadily at her head.

“I should’ve just finished the job.”

And he pulled the trigger.

 ___________________

She woke with a noise that was half gasp, half scream. Her breath was coming in short tiny gasps that were delivering next to no oxygen to her lungs, but she couldn’t seem to stop, all she could see was Carth finally looking her in the eye as he killed her.

She curled in on herself, hugging her knees and still hyperventilating when the cargo hold door lock disengaged and someone came running in, dropping to their knees beside her.

“Hey, hey it’s okay!” Mission sounded half like she was trying to be reassuring, half like she was just short of panicking herself. “Wren, I don’t know what happened, but it’s going to be okay. Okay?”

A heavier set of footsteps entered the hold and someone else knelt at her other side. “Grua. I need you to breathe,” Canderous said. “Breathe with me, all right? Slow, deep breaths.” He started breathing slow, measured, deliberate breaths, and Wren made a concerted effort to match the pace he set.

The next several minutes passed like that—Canderous breathing, helping her calm down, and the two of them talking to her gently. She’d never really thought of the Mandalorian as _gentle_ before, but there it was. Finally, she uncurled from her defensive posture and leaned against the wall, accepting the bottle of water that Mission offered.

“What happened?” Canderous asked.

She shook her head. “Nightmare.”

He looked skeptical. “And it doesn’t have _anything_ to do with the mysterious box we weren’t supposed to open?”

Wren sighed. “All right, so I opened the box. _That_ wasn’t why I had a damn panic attack.”

Mission looked worried. “Wanna talk about it?”

Wren shrugged. “The box was fine. White empty space, some ancient alien consciousness almost stole my body, but I beat him at riddles and you know, he wasn’t actually bad company. Then…” She trailed off, not looking at either of them.

“Your nightmare?” Mission asked.

Wren nodded. Silence fell over the three of them while they waited for her to speak. Finally she had something to say. “Did you mean it? What you said back there? Me being family, and—and—?”

Mission’s expression cleared into what might be interpreted as righteous indignation. “Of course I did! You’re my friend, you’re—you’re practically my sister! I don’t care if you were Revan, you’ve done so much for me, for Big Z, for all of us!”

Canderous gave her a discerning look. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, nodding to Mission and stalking out of the hold like a man with a purpose.

Mission shifted to sit with her back against the wall next to Wren.

“We’re still on course for Manaan?” Wren asked.

Mission shrugged. “Carth’s the only one who’s been in the cockpit since…” She stopped.

Wren snorted. “Great. So if he decides to cart me off to Republic prison for war crimes no one can stop him, am I getting that right?”

“Wren!”

“I mean it! If any of you were in your damn right minds you wouldn’t still be running around with me either! Well, Canderous might. HK would. T3 probably would. But the rest of you…”

Mission shook her head. “I don’t care what Revan did,” she said emphatically. “You’re not her. The dark lord Revan never would’ve saved Big Z from slavers. But you did. She never would’ve saved those stupid settlers’ kids on Dantooine. But you did. She never would’ve helped Freyyr or Dustil or _any_ of the people you’ve helped!”

Wren sighed deeply and lapsed into silence. Finally, she stood. “I’m going to see if I can get any actual sleep. I… good night, Mission.”

She returned to the women’s bunkroom, not even bothering to undress before she crashed on one of the bunks. Sleep, surprisingly enough, came quickly this time.

__________________________ 

She spent most of the rest of the trip in the cargo hold with only T3 for company. He was good company, too—he played Pazaak well and he didn’t want to talk about Revan.

Given that those were about her only qualifications for good company, she might have thought she could find more, but people who didn’t want to talk about Revan seemed to be in short supply, for obvious reasons.

So she played Pazaak with T3, and she practiced with the remotes, and she tried to forget everything that had happened in the past few days.

It wasn’t working.

The worst part, really, was that Bastila was gone. Well, not _quite_ the worst, but she was doing her utmost to forget about that specific detail, so she focused on Bastila. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if the Jedi was still here—yell at her? Demand answers?—but maybe it would have helped. That, or it would have forced her to deal with this and actually talk about it with someone, which, in her rare moments of complete honesty with herself, she realized she sorely needed.

Bastila was one of the few she would have trusted to understand the stakes, she came to realize. Mission was too young—she didn’t quite grasp the scope of the crimes Revan had committed. Zaalbar might have been older, but he was just as isolated, and in Wookiee years, his maturity was comparable to Mission’s, and he probably wouldn’t say much about it anyway. Canderous… saw things differently. She appreciated his perspective, really, but Revan burning worlds in the name of strategy wasn’t an issue to him. HK was out of the question for obvious reasons, and Jolee…

She didn’t want to talk to Jolee just then. In her moments of honesty, she admitted that it was because he’d known. He’d known all along what she was, and he’d kept it from her. He may have left the order, but in the end, even he wasn’t free of their influence.

So she stayed locked in the cargo hold with her one crew member who wouldn’t say anything, and she broke and fixed droids.

She was ready and waiting when they landed on Manaan. The ship touched down and she was off it less than a minute later, with T3 trailing behind, ignoring the calls of her companions.

She knew the score, now. The Jedi had intended her to defeat her old apprentice—to clean up her mess. And more likely than not, they’d been hoping she’d die in the process. A nice, tidy clean-up job for a colossal, galaxy-wide screwup.

Typical fucking Jedi.

She waved off the port official with a bit of Force-enhanced persuasion, entering the main courtyard at a brisk walk and still trying to look natural. It wasn’t needed, apparently. No one even glanced her way—the Selkath were too busy going about their own business, and the Republic and Sith soldiers stationed there were too busy glaring daggers at each other.

She sighed. The last damn thing she needed was to get caught up in the middle of all this tension. It was worse than if there’d been fighting in the streets. At least if that were the case, she’d be able to blow off some steam. As it was, she was going to lose it real quick unless she found a way to what she was looking for.

Figuring the Republic probably didn’t know the truth about her (she’d have been met with a lot more suspicious glares up to this point if they did), she headed for their embassy.

She was met at the entrance by a young guard whose eyes widened at the sight of her lightsaber. With his gaze flickering from her weapon to her face and back again, he waved her inside, pointing to a desk where a man was shuffling some papers.

Wren approached, waiting at the edge of the desk until he looked up. Like his guard, he gave her a once-over, focused on the lightsaber, and set his work down immediately.

“Master Jedi!” he exclaimed. “Welcome to Manaan.”

“Not a master,” she grunted. “But thank you. I need your help with a mission I’m on from the Jedi Council.”

His eyebrows raised fractionally. “A mission from the Jedi Council? I’m not certain how much help I can be, but I’ll certainly do what I can. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for an artifact called a Star Map. Know anything about that?”

He frowned thoughtfully. “I might. I might, at that. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to do something for me, first.”

Wren crossed her arms. “What and why?”

He cleared his throat. “While, um...while your lightsaber identifies you as a Jedi, I’m afraid I need to be completely certain you are trustworthy if you are to be taken into our confidence. Therefore, I am enlisting your help on a critical mission.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What sort of mission.”

“We recently sent a droid into the depths of Manaan’s ocean to recover some data. Unfortunately, the Sith got their hands on it before we could retrieve it. We need that droid back before the Sith manage to crack the encryption on the data.”

“So where’s the droid?”

“We suspect it’s being kept in the Sith base in Ahto City East.”

“Fine. How do I get in?”

“You have a few options,” he began. “First, we managed to capture a Sith prisoner—he’s in the cells now. If you wished to interrogate him for the passcode, that is one of your options. Your second option would be to decrypt a Sith passcard. We’ve managed to get our hands on a few of them, but our technicians are having some trouble with the encryption. Thirdly, the Sith have a private hangar where they have a shuttle to one of their base’s entrances. The hangar is outside the city’s security zone, so you could _probably_ get in that way without being detected by the authorities, at least at first.”

She nodded. “So what I’m hearing is, go in, kill everyone I see, get the droid, get back here. Yes?”

“Perhaps more… blunt than I would have put it, but yes, that’s the idea.”

“Fine. I’ll be back, I need to scope the city.”

He seemed slightly startled by her abrupt departure, but she _really_ didn’t care. First, she needed to get an idea of the city, and any places she might be able to get away with things. Second, she’d just remembered something, something that might prove to be an even better distraction than the mysterious box.

_The Genoharadan say to see Hulas on Manaan. Come alone or not at all._


	23. Shortcomings

Hulas turned out to be a rodian. She found him on the south side of the east central courtyard after a somewhat extensive search and investigation in the local cantina (during which she was entreated by one of the Selkath to search for his missing daughter). Instructing T3 to wait near the embassy, she approached warily.

He turned, looked her up and down, and nodded. **“It is good to see you have come alone,”** he said. **“I must ask you to continue to do so in the future. Should you approach me in the company of another, I will have to feign ignorance.”**

She nodded. “Understood. Who are you? What's the Genoharadan?”

**“Not many have heard of us, it is true. We operate from the shadows to keep the Republic safe, and though our methods may be unsavory to some, it is only through our influence that the government as you know it has survived this long.”**

She eyed him warily. “What does that mean?”

**“As I said, we operate from the shadows. We do what we must to protect those we fight for, and we make no apologies for it. Though I suspect you can relate… Revan.”**

She froze. She should have known she couldn't escape it. “How did you find that out?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible.

**“We have our sources, Revan, even within the Sith fleet. With the right motivation, anyone will talk. Malak tried to keep the revelation of your identity a secret—many executions were involved in his effort—but information has a way of slipping through the cracks. Once that has happened, all you need to know is how to harvest it.”**

She nodded, clasping her hands behind her back to hide their tremor. “I'd appreciate if you would use my pseudonym,” she said. “I don't want word getting out—I'd rather not draw attention to myself just yet.”

**“Understood, Wren Grua. But we should return to the heart of the matter.”**

She nodded. “You're assassins,” she said bluntly. “And let me guess, your buddy heard about one of the important people I’ve killed recently and now you want me in on the action.”

**“Very astute. That is an approximate reading of the situation, but you have the general idea, yes. There are certain… targets who have arisen that may require someone of your skill to eliminate. All are threats to the Republic. But before I divulge more information I must ask you to prove your dedication to your assignments.”**

“Of course you must,” she sighed. “Let's get one thing straight: I'm not joining. I'm helping. I'm happy to run jobs for you, but I don't want to get mixed up in politics, from any angle. Clear?”

**“Understood, Rev—Wren. Your first target is here on Manaan, a prisoner in the Republic embassy. His name is Lorgal, and he has committed several acts of terrorism against the Republic. He is set to be tried, but I doubt anyone will lift a finger to stop you. He is much hated in the Republic. One thing, though: plausible deniability. Make it look like it could have been an accident. That is all I will tell you.”**

She nodded. “I'll be back.”

 _____________________

She didn't even wait for an invitation before marching up to Roland Wann’s desk. “I'll interrogate the prisoner,” she said without preamble.

He looked up, taken aback for a moment. “Very well,” he said, regaining his composure. “Here is an access card to the holding area. The guard will give you the details.”

The guard was all too happy to hand over control, with instructions on how to operate the truth serum machine, as well as all the information they had on their prisoner. Then—she couldn’t believe her luck, really—he walked out, leaving her alone in the cell block with its two prisoners.

She eyed the human—the Sith—for a moment before turning her attention to the Rodian. “Lorgal?”

He sneered at her. **“Come to see Lorgal the Great Liberator caged like an animal? You cannot touch me in here, human. Nothing can stop me from spreading my manifesto during my trial!”**

She was already typing the command into the control console. “I beg to differ,” she said calmly as the poison gas entered his cell. “Whoops,” she added, deadpan.

His eyes bugged and he fought not to breathe, but it couldn’t last forever. That was when the lightning kicked in. Lorgal collapsed—

_—screaming and twitching. “Please, Lord Revan, mercy!” But she had none in her heart. He was a Jedi spy, he deserved no more mercy than the Jedi had given the Republic in their time of need. She felt no remorse as he lost consciousness at last, his screams—_

—fading into silence as the torture field and the gas finally killed him. Wren stared down at him disdainfully. “So much for the Great Liberator.”

Eyes still fixed on the console, she hesitated. She knew what she had to do—she _knew_ exactly what could break this guy (one reason she’d made such a show of killing Lorgal), but…

She didn’t know. Part of her felt like Malak had awakened this monster inside of her, while the other part… saw the revelation as a seamless transition into her full potential.

She sighed imperceptibly. What did any of it matter? She needed the information this guy had, and she knew exactly how to get it. That should be enough.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned to the Sith, who was staring at the whole spectacle wide-eyed. “So,” she said quietly. “You’ve seen I have no mercy for prisoners who are useless to me. Now. Give me your access code.”

He shook his head, taking a step back as she approached with deliberate, menacing steps. “N-no! I won’t betray the Sith!”

She let her lip curl into what she hoped was a threatening smile. “Well, I’m sure even torture won’t change your mind, given the…” She gave him a mock-appraising look, “... clear extent of your training. But maybe… well. Maybe you’ll be more receptive if we bring someone else in, instead. Say… Tela?”

She could practically see the blood drain from his face. “T-Tela? You know about her? Please—please don’t hurt her! Where is she? Let me see her!”

Wren huffed a fake laugh. “Relax, why don’t you. She’s not here. Yet. We… have some agents keeping an eye on her. If you decide not to talk… I could have her brought in… I think I’ll put her in that cage, right there, so she can see your face as you condemn her to torture.” She looked back at him. “Or you could just… give me your access code.” He hesitated. “Tell you what,” she added. “I’ll even sweeten the deal. Give me the code, and not only will you go free, we can offer you protection from the Sith. You know they’ll never take you back now—you’ve been a prisoner so long they’ll be sure to think you’ve betrayed them. But we’ll protect you, and your wife, and I won’t have to resort to… unsavory methods.”

He breathed a long, shaky breath. “Very well,” he said slowly. “I have your word?”

“On every scrap of honor I possess, the Republic will keep my word.”

He nodded slowly. “Zeta 245698 alpha.” His eyes flickered back to Lorgal’s limp form.

Wren dropped the facade. “I’m sorry,” she said, and walked out.

She handed over her keycard to the Republic officer who met her just outside the door. “I have the code,” she said. “I promised protection from the Sith for him and his wife. And, uh… there may have been a wrong button or two that was pressed. Goodbye.” She walked away without another word, leaving the man behind her spluttering half-finished questions.

Out in the courtyard, she found a peaceful alcove and slid down the wall, pressing her head in her hands. She’d done what she had to do. She knew what would get the man to talk, so she’d done it, and that was it. Still… it affected her more than she’d expected. If nothing else, remembering what it felt like to be on the other side of that fence—somewhere she’d _been_ only a few days ago, watching someone she— _cared about—_ suffering for her silence… it was difficult.

And more than anything, it made it easier— _much_ easier—to believe the truth. Because she did have the capacity for that coldness, that ruthlessness she’d seen in Revan’s memories. If he hadn’t talked, would she have brought in Tela? Would she have tortured her? She didn’t know, and that scared her. Because Revan would, but she… _was_ she Revan? She had been… but was she still?

She didn’t know that, either, and she couldn’t _do_ anything about it, so she pushed herself to her feet and pushed her doubts to the back of her mind, heading instead back to where Hulas was waiting (T3 kept at a safe distance).

**“You return,”** he said simply as she approached.

“Lorgal is dead,” she said.

**“Yes, the agents I sent to watch you have reported to me concerning Lorgal’s death. A job well done. However, this task was only the beginning. Now, a more difficult challenge awaits you. There are three targets that the Genoharadan wish you to remove. If you eliminate all three, you will gain full membership in our ancient guild. Or,”** he added as she started to speak, **“A substantial reward. Do you accept the challenge?”**

“Why the hell not? Who are my targets?”

**“The first is a Gammorean named Vorn Daasraad. The second is a shapeshifter named Rulan Prolik. The third is a Selkath known as Ithorak Guldar. Vorn is a freelance bounty hunter. Very good, but a bit too sadistic for our tastes. He prefers watching his victims suffer over an efficient kill. And while the Genoharadan will tolerate a certain amount of competition, Vorn has become too dangerous. He must be eliminated.”**

“Where is he?”

**“He was last seen on Tatooine. Be advised: Vorn alone is very dangerous, but he is hardly ever alone. He keeps an assault droid with him at all times.”**

“Useful. What about this Rulan fellow?”

**“We don’t know much about Rulan except that he’s a powerful shapeshifter. We don’t know if it’s a natural ability or the result of some powerful alien technology. But we suspect he’s behind several prominent assassinations in the Outer Rim. We are worried he might decide to move his operation closer to the Core.”**

“So you’re sending me to take him out. Wonderful. Where do I start?”

**“Until recently, he was lurking in the Shadowlands of Kashyyyk. However, new information has been acquired suggesting that he is also en route to Tatooine. Be warned, Wren Grua: if Rulan and Vorn should ally for some reason, they will be even more formidable than they would separately. Tread carefully.”**

“Don’t you just love complications.” She sighed. “All right. What about the third guy?”

**“Ithorak isn’t violent like Rulan or Vorn, but in many ways he’s far more dangerous. He’s a con artist and blackmailer who’s taken millions of credits from rich and powerful families. He also deals in secrets and information, and these can be far more deadly than any blaster. But Ithorak is careful—we know he’s somewhere here on Manaan, but we don’t know where. All we know is how to contact him. There’s a Twi’lek named Vek who frequents the Manaan swoop track. He can set up a meeting between you and Ithorak.”**

She snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go over well. ‘Hey, I want to kill your boss, can you set up a meeting?’” She eyed him. “I take it you have an alternate suggestion?”

**“Ithorak poses as a merchant of rare antiquities. It’s the perfect cover for his real work—It gives him access to rich and powerful families without drawing suspicion. If you convince Vek that you represent a buyer interested in purchasing something from Ithorak…”**

“He’ll set up a meeting. All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

**“I will not linger here, Wren Grua. When you have completed your tasks, meet me near the swoop track on Tatooine. I will grant you your reward there.”**  

She nodded.

_____________________ 

Her biggest problem was getting in the front door. Sure, she had a passcode, but that would do her exactly no good unless she could look the part.

On that assumption, and based on the fact that the Sith base was near the swoop track anyway, she went there first.

The Twi’lek Hulas had mentioned was leaning against the counter, casually sipping a drink and ignoring everyone around him. She slipped onto the stool next to him, ignoring him right back. She ordered a drink, getting a pretty good look around as she did so.

It was set up in a half-spectator, half-bar sort of arrangement. One side of the room had tables (all equipped with viewscreens) and the other side was set up much like the spectator area had been back on Taris. Half of the area behind the counter (the half she and the Twi’lek were sitting at) was a bar, and the other half seemed to be a registration area.

She chanced a glance at the man next to her, looking away almost as quickly. She took her drink with a smile and kept her eyes focused on it as she spoke. “Are you Vek?”

**“Who wants to know?”**

“I…” she hesitated. “I represent a potential client for your boss, Ithorak Guldar. I was told you could arrange a meeting.”

He looked over at her, sizing her up. **“Yes, I suppose you do have that look about you, the air of one who serves the rich and powerful. A look I have seen in my own mirror far too often…”** He sighed. **“Very well. I’ll set up a meeting. I’m afraid his schedule is rather full for the rest of the day… might you be available tomorrow?”**

They agreed on a time the next afternoon and she allowed herself to drift into the corner of the cantina area, sinking into a chair at a table in the corner. There were plenty of Sith here, and many of them in uniform, but the difficult part was going to be getting her hands on one of them.

She’d done it before, of course, but that chance had practically fallen into her lap, thanks to Yun Genda. This time it might not be so simple.

Closing her eyes, she stretched out her awareness in the Force, reaching to the extent of the room—just a surface skim of everyone’s thoughts. Some patrons were disgruntled at the Sith presence (more so in the cantina than on the planet itself). Some Sith were bored, just trying to take their mind off things. Some wished they could just fight the damn Republic instead of all this diplomacy shit.

To an extent, Wren agreed. Manaan was peaceful. It was _beautiful,_ but it was hiding something sinister, a monster waiting to be set loose. In this case, the Sith code had the right of it: peace _was_ a lie. There was no peace. Only… not war.

Slumping back into her chair with a sigh, she released her concentration, bringing herself back into her own head, and put her feet up on the table. However she tried to focus, whatever distraction she sought out, it was always there, lurking in the back of her mind, taunting her, prodding her with questions she couldn’t answer, and it was going to drive her _crazy._

_I am Darth Revan. Darth Revan is me._ But repeating it did nothing to help her believe it, or to understand any of what had happened to her.

Oh, sure, she understood logically. Malak had attacked Revan, Revan had almost died, and the Council had given her a fake past so that she’d work for them. It explained so much she couldn’t doubt it was true, but knowing and understanding were… two very different things. She knew she was Revan. She even had some of Revan’s memories (mostly unpleasant). But she didn’t _feel_ like Revan. Or did she?

She had been able to push herself farther since the revelation, both in the fight against Malak and in some of her Force-wielding capabilities. Had Revan been lying dormant, waiting for the opportunity to wake up and take control?

_Shut up, Grua,_ she snapped at herself. Revan wasn’t some other entity lodged in her brain, Revan was _her._ Still, it was hard not to think of her as a separate person, considering the disjointedness that marked the past months of her life.

_The Republic base._ The idea came out of nowhere, but moments later she was wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before. Dropping her feet to the ground with a _thunk,_ she sprang to her feet and all but ran out of the cantina.

She stalked up to Roland Wann’s desk, but seeing the Intelligence officer who’d been presiding over the prisoners, she bypassed the representative completely.

“The Sith,” she said without preamble. “Where is he?”

The agent frowned. “Still in his cell, for the moment; we’re arranging transport to bring his wife here. Why?”

“I need his uniform.”

“He wasn’t _in_ uniform,” the man snapped. “He was a spy, remember? But—”

She made a frustrated noise. “Surely you’ve got _something._ ”

He looked shifty. “We… may have stumbled across a few of them, yes.”

She eyed him. “...I won’t ask how. I need one.”

It was far from a perfect fit, but she thought she could pull it off all right. And no one looked twice at her as she made her way down the street toward the Sith base.

“Authorization?” The guard at the door sounded like he’d never been more bored in his life.

“Zeta 245698 alpha,” she recited, putting on an accent just for the hell of it.

He nodded. “Go ahead in,” and he unlocked the elevator.

The woman at the front desk, though, was far less lackadaisical. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.

Wren blinked and stiffened, trying to look both nervous and several years younger than she actually was. Given her height, it wasn’t too difficult. “S-sorry, ma’am,” she stuttered. “This droid was malfunctioning—” she gestured to T3, “—and I was told to take it to maintenance, only I’ve only just signed up, ma’am, and I’m n-not quite sure where that is. Ma’am.” She saluted hastily, sloppily, then waited expectantly, eyes wide.

The woman narrowed her eyes, thoroughly examining Wren. “Let me see your identification.”

Wren nodded rapidly and reached for her pocket, only to find it empty. She checked again, then frantically started checking other pockets, coming up empty each time. “Damn it,” she muttered to herself. “Damn it, shit, shit, I’m so sorry, this keeps happening, and they keep telling me to put it in a more secure location and I really should listen—”

“Name and authorization code, then.”

“Y-yes ma’am. Brenna Grell, ma’am, authorization zeta 245698 alpha, ma’am.”

As the woman looked away, typing something into her console, Wren stepped up to the desk.

“I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” she said in her normal accent. And she activated her lightsaber directly through the woman’s heart.

She fell without a sound. Wren moved her body out of the way and searched in the console for security cameras and a directory. She found both relatively quickly—droid maintenance was down a corridor to the west, apparently, and there seemed to be few guards between her position and there. She could only hope that she could get the data and get out before anyone found their receptionist.

She was just about to shut it off when she saw a camera marked ‘training rooms.’ _Training who?_ She selected it, and the screen was filled with a wide shot of a room containing several Selkath. Two of them were dueling in the center of the room with practice sabers.

_The kids. Damn it._ No matter how she played this, then, it was going to end in blood.

She sighed and deactivated the console, pulling out her lightsaber but not turning it on just yet. “We’re up for it, right T3?”

The droid beeped.

“Glad you’re here,” was all she said in response.

 _____________________

The maintenance area was not well guarded. A couple of soldiers, plus droids, were guarding another droid—large, deactivated, and looked like a jellyfish. The droids fell to some Force lightning and T3’s flamethrower kept the soldiers at bay long enough for Wren’s lightsaber to take care of them.

The Sith had an entire area set up for trying to decode the droid’s datacore. Wren took the core itself, made sure any progress that had been made was deleted from the Sith terminals, and made her way back through the base toward the northeast corner, where the receptionist’s terminal had said this ‘training room’ was. If the Selkath in there were actually the missing youth… she might be able to get one up on the Sith, at least on Manaan.

Three Dark Jedi, a very stubborn energy shield, and two very advanced war droids later, she was limping, her body weakened from Force lightning and the droids’ gravity generators, and bleeding from a cut on her head.

She leaned heavily against the wall, keeping an eye out for any patrols, and tried to assess the damage. Something in her leg was torn, hence the limp. She was bleeding in more than one place by this point, and had a few more cauterized wounds from lightsabers. She reached out to the Force to try and heal some of the damage, but it only confirmed her suspicions—she’d never learned the healing techniques properly while she was training at the Enclave. She was sure Revan had, at some point, but a frustrating amount of the Dark Lord’s memories were still inaccessible.

The only healing she’d ever managed to do consisted of some sort of modified effect she’d managed to draw from within herself—she would take some of her strength and pour it into someone else. Come to think of it, she supposed it was something like a reverse life drain. She could heal others just fine, and if she had someone else to draw on she was sure she could turn it back on herself, but when it was just her alone… nothing.

Sighing, she pulled a medpac out of her bag and started to treat the worst of her wounds the old fashioned way. It wasn’t much, and it certainly wouldn’t stop her dying if she ran into more dark Jedi, but at least she could sort of walk now.

She pushed up off the wall and continued to limp along the corridor toward the northeast. There weren’t any patrols, no soldiers, no dark Jedi, no droids—until there was a single Selkath.

She froze, and so did he, and they stared at each other for several seconds of tense silence before he raised a hand and she felt a force constricting around her throat.

His technique needed work, she decided, as she managed to push back with her own wave of Force and shake off the effect, but if the Sith were really teaching Selkath to be dark Jedi, that did not bode well for the future of Manaan.

Freezing him in stasis, taking just a little of his strength to keep her going, she knocked him out and left him off to one side of the corridor. Hopefully she’d be able to find more of these kids and convince them what utter shitbags the Sith were. If not…

She didn’t want to think about it. She’d already killed enough children on Korriban, but if these Selkath remained determined to serve the Sith…

Revan would kill them. She just wasn’t sure if _Wren_ would.

She emerged into some kind of quad and went first into the room straight across from her. What she found was… well. Sickening didn’t even begin to cover it.

Three Selkath lay on the ground, discarded, clearly tortured. To death, she thought at first, but then one of them moved.

**“Human…”** he gasped. **“Tell… tell Shasa… the Sith…”**

She dropped to her knees at his side, already taking from her limited store of energy to try to sustain him. “Hang on, don’t you die on me now. Tell her your damn self, now come on!”

It wasn’t working. The torture had been far too thorough, and he was already slipping away. **“Give her… my token.”** His voice sounded like a death rattle. **“Tell her… we serve… or die…”** And he died.

Wren swore. Because without him alive, giving Shasa the token meant nothing. If she were more naive, she might believe that Shasa would take the token on faith, but she knew better. Shasa would think she’d killed this Selkath and taken the token from his corpse, hoping to turn his friends against the Sith. She needed more proof.

After taking a moment of silence for the victims of Sith opportunism, she got to her feet and left the dead where they lay. Trying to remember the layout from the map in the receptionist’s terminal, she headed directly across the quad and turned right, opening the door and hoping it was the right one.

It was, in a manner of speaking. That is, it was if she wanted to find the Selkath now and hope they didn’t try to kill her outright.

**“Intruder!”** one of the Selkath exclaimed, already heading for the far wall (and probably an alarm). **“Shall I sound the alarm?”**

All of them turned to the one closest to the door. **“No, wait,”** was the verdict. **“Perhaps this is a test our masters have prepared for us. Stranger, what are you doing here?”**

“Is one of you Shasa?” she asked.

**“I am Shasa,** ” the leader said. **“How is it you know my name?”**

“I found… in the room across the way, some Selkath had been tortured. One of them was still barely alive, and he told me to give this to you, and to tell you ‘we serve or die.’” She held out the token.

Shasa took it warily. **“This… this is the token I gave to Galas when we were children.”** She looked up at Wren. **“But this proves nothing! For all I know,** **_you_ ** **killed Galas!”**

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

**“This morning,”** Shasa said. **“He said he wished to leave, and the Sith told us he went home.”**

“If nothing else, I can prove that was a lie,” Wren said. “Come with me. Just over there is Galas’ body, along with two others.”

Shasa started to follow, but one of her friends grabbed her arm. **“Wait! What if it’s a trap?”**

She stopped. **“You speak wisdom, of course. No, stranger. I will remain here. If you find proof that the Sith are lying to us, bring it to me. Otherwise, leave us in peace.”**

Wren sighed. "Dustil all over again. All right, fine. I'll be back." She supposed it was as good as she was going to get.

________________________ 

The dark Jedi master was to be expected. Where there were students, there had to be a master. What she didn’t appreciate was the pair of Selkath flanking him. The last thing she needed was having to fight any _more_ of Shasa’s friends, especially when she was trying to convince them that it was the Sith who were evil.

The master, meanwhile, had frozen, staring at the door in shock for a moment before he drew his lightsaber with a flourish. “How did you get in here?” he demanded. Then the recognition hit. “Wait… it’s you!” Wren froze. Surely he couldn’t know… “Lord Malak was most displeased when he learned you had escaped Taris alive,” the man said.

“He has promised a great reward to whoever destroys me, yeah, yeah, I know.” Wren snapped. “How many people did he give that script to anyway?”

T3 beeped.

“Yes, I was just getting to that. Everyone who’s tried to destroy me up to this point—including Malak himself, by the way—has failed miserably. And also died. Except for Malak, who escaped. But that’s beside the point. You can fight me, and die, or you can tell your indoctrinated Selkath kids the truth, let them go, and… oh, wait, I’ll kill you anyway. Still, it’d make my job a lot easier. What do you say?”

He just flourished his lightsaber in response.

She sighed, drawing her own. “Fine. Proposition for you, then. Fight me one on one. You two—” she addressed the Selkath, “—I’d tell you the truth, that the Sith are using you to try and take over your planet, etcetera etcetera, but you wouldn’t believe me any more than Shasa did. So—”

**“You saw Shasa?”**

**“Did you kill her?”**

Wren looked momentarily horrified. “Why the hell would I kill her? It’s you kids I’m trying to save, that’s why I broke in here in the first place. No, she’s fine. She asked me to get proof that the Sith are using you, which I fully intend to find because I’m sure it exists. Until then, I really don’t want to kill you, so how about you two stay out of it, I take care of this moron, and we work it out from there?”

“Fool! You think they won’t see through your obvious ploy to tip the battle in your favor?”

Wren smirked at him. “Ah, so you admit I’m superior to you, then?” Not waiting for his response, she turned back to the Selkath. “Do we have a deal?”

They looked at each other, hesitant. Then one nodded. **“We agree to your terms, human.** ”

She nodded. “Good. Let’s get on with it, then. T3, stay back. Shock them if they try anything.”

She and the Sith stepped forward into the center of the room as the others retreated to the periphery. They slowly began to circle, occasionally twitching a lightsaber or taking a step closer, but neither one attacked. Who knew what he was doing, but Wren was taking notes. She was still injured, weakened still further from trying to heal Galas, and overall in no state to be fighting, if she’d been anyone but the dark lord Revan. As it was, she might— _might—_ stand a chance.

She feinted, dodged around his parry and went for the legs. He managed to dodge out of the way in time, recovering to strike at her left side. She parried, barely, and the fight was on.

_This was a bad idea._ It took maybe ten seconds for her to reach that conclusion. The one that followed was even less heartening— _even Revan isn’t invincible._

He was good. She might have been better, at full strength, but as it was, she couldn’t tell. And by the time she’d even managed to get a hit on him, she was just hoping that T3 would escape to tell the others what had happened to her when she inevitably died.

Her droid, though, was far from giving up hope. And surprisingly, he was not unwilling to fight dirty. The next time the Sith’s back was to him, T3 hit him with his shock arm. Wren took the man’s few seconds of immobilization as the opportunity it was and decapitated him.

The Selkath approached as she sat by one wall, already pulling out a medpac. She held up a warning hand. “If you attack me, I will hurt you,” she said.

They stopped.

When she’d finished treating her worst wounds, she got to her feet—slowly. The Selkath were standing maybe ten feet from her, eyeing her suspiciously.

She brushed a hand through her bangs. “Yeah, I know, dishonorable and all that. If you were about to die, would honor matter to you?”

**“Your actions are not helping you to convince us that the Sith are the evil ones here,”** one of them pointed out.

“I’m aware,” she ground out, doing her best to contain her frustration. “Look, let me into his quarters. Sith are always keeping notes on things they really shouldn’t be. If I can’t find anything… I’ll walk away. Or you can fight me, if that’s what you want. But I warn you, even in this state, I’ll win.”

They looked at each other, then back at her. **“Very well.”** One of them moved to open the door at the back of the room, and she followed at a very slow limp.

Inside, she looked around. A simple bed, a desk, and a footlocker—no adornments, no personal touch. Boring. She started with the desk, but that was a quick search. There was nothing on it, and in the drawers were only a few discarded datapads which had nothing of interest on them.

The footlocker, though, was locked. And that seemed promising. T3 hacked it easily enough, and there she found a few miscellaneous items (a spare uniform, a pair of socks, a vibroknife, and a few other things)—and another datapad. It was fingerprint-locked, but that was taken care of easily enough. (The Selkath looked mildly scandalized but she was beyond caring). And on the datapad…

Her eyebrows went up slowly as she read. “Why would you even keep _notes_ on this shit?” she asked rhetorically. “Look,” she added to the Selkath. “They were planning on using you young trainees to conquer the planet. Who here is surprised? Well, you probably are. I’m not. Do I always ramble this much when I’m injured?” This last was directed at T3, who beeped. “Why didn’t anyone mention it before?” He beeped again. She sighed. “Fine, have it your way. We should get back to Shasa.”

The Selkath nodded. **“This is indeed most disturbing, human. The authorities should be informed at once.”**


	24. Distortion of Justice

The authorities were surprised, to say the least, when Wren walked out of the base, followed by a droid and a half dozen young Selkath.

**“You! Human!”** their leader called out. **“We have detected a number of weapons discharges from within the Sith base, and you were the last one seen to enter before our communications were lost. As such, we hereby deem you responsible for the disturbance and must take you into custody.”**

“Would it help if I said I was investigating the disappearances of these kids?”

**“It is not in our authority to make judgments. Someone must be held responsible. This matter will be brought before the judges. Any arguments or evidence you have may be brought up during your trial.”**

“Wonderful,” Wren sighed. “Go home, kids. I guess I’m going to jail.”

Jail wasn’t too bad, it turned out. There were two others in the various tiny cells scattered around the room, both human—a man about her age who kept shouting obscenities at the warden, and an older man who didn’t say a word.

Until Jolee Bindo walked in.

The old man sat up immediately, then got to his feet as Jolee entered and approached his cell. “Sunry. Elora sent me to help you; I’ve been appointed as your Arbiter.”

Wren leaned back against the bars of her cage. He hadn’t seen her, which meant he hadn’t been looking, which meant he didn’t know she’d been arrested. Which hopefully meant none of the others knew, either.

“I need all the evidence, Sunry,” Jolee was saying. “Everything you know, and I’ll question the witnesses too. I may be your friend, but I’m also a Jedi, and I need to be impartial in this case.”

Wren tuned him out. She should probably care, but it seemed like Jolee had the problem well in hand, and it was his friend, and she was in jail, so there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it anyway. She closed her eyes, hoping that if she sat still and rested long enough, her wounds would take care of themselves. Even resting, though, she knew it would be at least a few days before she was back to full strength. At least without the help of another Jedi.

She could just ask Jolee for help, of course. But the stubborn part of her (the part that was insisting she was on her own, that even though they’d declared their support, they’d turn on her once they realized the full extent of the implications) told her to keep her mouth shut. If they cared enough to find her, they’d find her. If not, she didn’t need them.

Jolee finished questioning his friend and left, and if Wren was more spiteful, she might have taken some of the strength of the other prisoners to help heal her wounds, but she couldn’t be bothered to deal with the kind of fallout that might have. Of course, maybe she’d just get away with it and no one would be any the wiser, but if the Selkath did find out, that would make her case a lot more fragile. Not her case against the Sith, but pleading her innocence as a Jedi, defender of justice and peace and all that nerf-shit. Because she wasn’t a Jedi, she never had been, but for those who only saw the binary, any Force-user who wasn’t a Sith must be a Jedi, and if she was caught draining the energy of her fellow prisoners, that put her a lot closer to the Sith end of the spectrum. Couldn’t risk it.

Instead, she turned to Jolee’s friend, looking up at him with tired eyes. “So, murder. You do it?”

He looked affronted. “Of course not! The Sith are trying to frame me!”

She snorted softly. “Of course, shouldn’t have asked. Because even if you had done it, you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I’m innocent, I swear!” She could feel the emotional conflict within him, feelings being so rapidly exchanged and suppressed she couldn’t even follow them. But if she just _pushed…_

_A beautiful woman entered a hotel room ahead of him, throwing off her cloak and setting her lightsaber down on the desk on the opposite side. This was his chance. He had to end it._

The scene diverged in a flash of desperate panic, with different versions playing out before her eyes.

_He stepped into the room, holding up a hand as she turned around to kiss him. “We have to end this, Elassa. I can’t keep doing this to my wife.”_

_“Sunry—" She looked heartbroken for the briefest moment before her gaze hardened and she stretched out her hand toward her lightsaber. But he was quicker. As she turned toward her weapon, his blaster was out and he shot her._

She blinked, back in her own body for a split second before being plunged back into the same memory, altered.

_He stepped into the room. “We have to end this, Elassa. I can’t keep doing this to Elora.”_

_She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I… understand, Sunry. Thank you for being honest with me.”_

_He cupped her face with his hand for a moment before he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Moments after he walked away, he heard a blaster shot. He looked back for a moment, alarm written all over his face, and then he ran._

She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing, pushing her will into a point, pushing past the distortions.

_He stepped into the room, suppressing the disgust he felt as he looked at her. To think, she’d been using their affair to spy on him! He could ensure that she never hurt anyone ever again. It would be simple, really. All he had to do now was wait._

_She lay down on the bed, arms crossed behind her head. “Are you coming?”_

_He shook his head. “I have… some things to take care of.” It was a flimsy excuse, but she didn’t question it, just turned on her side, facing away from him as he sat down at the desk and pulled out a datapad. Couldn’t Sith sense your emotions? He had to keep his hidden. This was too vital, for him and for the Republic._

_He scrolled through the datapad without really seeing anything he was reading. At last, he turned around to look at her again. She was still lying down, with her back to him, her breathing deep and even. He had to act now._

_He pulled out his blaster, as quietly as he could, and took aim. He may be old, but she was a sitting duck. This was one Sith he knew he could kill._

_He pulled the trigger._

_That was when it occurred to him that people would react to blaster fire. That they would come running, and they would find him, holding a weapon pointed at a defenseless sleeping woman._

_The Republic Embassy. They would help him. He had to cover this up._

_He ran._

She withdrew from his mind with a gasp, looking over at him in horror, but he wasn’t standing anymore. He had collapsed to the floor of his cage, curled into the fetal position, clutching his head.

_Did I do that?_ She must have. Shit. _Note to self: prying into other people’s thoughts hurts them. Especially when they’re hiding something. Could be useful._

Shit. There it was again—the tactical, scheming mind of Revan, who didn’t care about collateral damage, just that she got what she wanted. Was that really her? 

She still couldn’t answer the question. Taking a little of what strength she had, she pushed it into Sunry, healing him enough that he relaxed, looking over at her in horror. 

“What did you do to me?”

“Uncovered the truth,” she said, her voice hard. “It only hurts if you’re trying to hide something.” Of course, she had no way of knowing that, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d already seen the truth of the matter. “Were you planning on telling Jolee you’re guilty?”

He sneered. “Of what? All I did was kill a Sith! You’re in here for slaughtering half the Sith base, how are we any different?”

“Because I killed them in a _fair fight!”_ she snapped. “Not by shooting them in the back while they were sleeping. And I also found evidence proving they’re planning to take over Manaan by using the Selkath kids, so I’d say overall mine was for a good cause.”

“Killing a Sith is always a good—”

_“Don’t. Try me,”_ she hissed. “I _saw_ your thoughts. You can’t hide from me. You were afraid. You were angry she’d been spying on you, and you were just _waiting_ for the chance to kill her to cover your own ass. If you don’t tell Jolee, then I will.”

He snorted. “And he’ll believe you? I’m one of Jolee’s oldest friends, you’re just a—”

The door opened, and it was lucky for Sunry that it did, because she suspected that if he’d been allowed to finish the sentence, he would have ended up back in the fetal position. Jolee stepped inside.

“I just spoke to—” He stopped, his gaze following Sunry’s and finally landing on Wren. “Wren? Lass, what are you doing in here?”

She sighed, leaning against the bars of her cage. “Long story. The important thing is your friend’s guilty, Jolee. I saw it. Check the Republic Embassy—tell them I sent you. But be sneaky about it. And take T3. I bet they’ve got the real recording hidden away somewhere in their databanks.”

He frowned. “Answer the question, lass. How did you end up in here?”

“Broke into the Sith base,” she replied shortly. “It’s fine, my trial’s in an hour and I’ve got all the evidence I need to get out of it. You deal with your murderer of a friend over there.” He looked like he was going to protest again, but she gave him a pointed look. “You can’t do anything for me until my trial, Jolee, and trust me when I say I’ve got it under control. Go.”

Ignoring her, he walked over to her cage and put his hands over hers on the bars of the cage. Closing his eyes, he began to channel the healing energy of the Force into her.

She felt better than she had in what felt like weeks. “Thank you,” she breathed. “That is… a relief.”

He gave her a stern look as he pulled back. “Remind me to teach you proper healing techniques next time we have a moment. Can’t have you going into battle against Malak not knowing how to heal yourself, can we?” And he left.

 _____________________________

An hour later, she walked into her trial, escorted by two Selkath guards but standing upright, no longer limping, with most of the worst of her wounds healed. The five judges eyed her distrustfully, but she didn’t even wait for them to introduce themselves or officially begin the trial. She walked to the one in the center, pulled out the datapad, and handed it over.

“I found this in the quarters of the master of the Sith base,” she said. “I also found some Selkath children—six of them were alive, three of them had been tortured to death by the Sith when they tried to leave.”

**“You were looking into the disappearance of Shaelas’ daughter, then?”** the judge asked.

She nodded. “Yes, your honor.”

**“Remain here while we verify this evidence and deliberate amongst ourselves.”** The judges filed out, taking the datapad with them, and Wren sat on one of the benches, hoping that they would find some way to verify the datapad was genuine.

They did. They returned not ten minutes later and released her, saying in addition that they would be putting sanctions on the Sith for the audacity of their scheme.

So, all in all, a win.

She didn’t bother returning to the ship. Jolee had healed her enough that she figured she could survive any more fights she might encounter, and she wanted to get this over with. (She refused to acknowledge that she didn’t want to see Carth).

Roland Wann looked up as she entered the Embassy. “Ah, you’ve returned! Did you get the data?”

Wren set the datacore on his desk. “And arrested, and almost killed, but never mind that. What do you know about the Star Map?”

Nothing for sure, it turned out, but it was too big of a coincidence to be a coincidence. He gave her directions to the submersible and turned back to his work.

She turned to T3. “Go back to the ship,” she said. “Tell Canderous I’m all right, I’ll be back soon with the Star Map. If I don’t make it back in 12 hours, tell them I left from the Republic base and to talk to Roland Wann.”

T3 beeped sadly.

“I know,” she said. “I need to do this alone. I’ll be okay, I promise.”


	25. Wren Alone

Roland Wann raised an eyebrow when she said she was going alone, but beyond that, he didn’t comment. _Good,_ she thought. She knew it was dangerous—if they’d lost contact completely, if that many mercenaries hadn’t returned, it had to be. And now she was their last hope (or rather, she was using their last submersible).

The ride down, unfortunately, gave her loads of time to think.

_Where do I stand?_

As far as her companions (at least, as far as they’d said), everyone except Carth was still on her team. Of those, though, she suspected only Jolee and Canderous really knew what it meant that she was Revan. Mission was far too young (even though she’d kill Wren for saying it) to understand. If Wren had suddenly turned out to be Malak, somehow, surely she wouldn’t be okay with it. How would she feel if she really understood that Revan had done things as bad as destroying Taris? Or worse? How would she feel if she knew Revan’s memories were resurfacing? (There were still a lot of gaps, and a lot of it felt more like… muscle memory than actual memory, but whatever it was, it was still a part of Revan).

Thinking about that was only slightly less painful than thinking about Carth.

She couldn’t help wondering if he actually would have done it. If he would have just shot her there in the main hold and been done with it, when she’d suggested it. Mission had stepped between them, effectively preventing any action on his part, but if she hadn’t…

She had heard him say, quite directly, that he wanted to put a blaster to Revan’s head. Why would Revan being _her_ change that? Why was she so desperately hoping that it would, even though all the evidence was suggesting otherwise?

_Because you love him._

“No, I don’t,” she said out loud, firmly. “I can’t. I can’t—” she couldn’t even say the words. “It would make everything worse.”

_There’s something out there,_ Revan had told Anika.

_Do not hinge everything on your success,_ her friend had replied.

Whatever it was, Revan had failed to stop it. And that meant exactly one thing: she was going to have to try again. The less she had to leave behind, the better.

Not to mention, Carth hated her guts. If there was one thing that could make that worse, it would be acknowledging that she—

_Shit. I do._

She pushed it to the back of her mind, focusing instead on Revan’s memories. Easier, somehow, to focus on someone who wasn’t her. Or… was, but somehow removed. Distant.

_Anika._ Who was Anika? She didn’t think she’d ever heard of her, yet several of Revan’s memories had included her, and she seemed to be important. To Revan and Malak, at least. But she hadn’t gone with them. She’d returned to the Jedi, after the Mandalorian Wars.

Where was she now? Was she still alive? If she could find her… maybe the two of them together could defeat this unknown evil.

_Or maybe,_ suggested a voice in her head, _the reason Revan failed is because Malak was there. Maybe in this case, the Jedi are right, and attachments are weakness._

It was certainly a valid theory, she supposed. If Revan had broken because whatever-it-was threatened Malak… well. That confirmed, more than anything, that she would have to go alone.

The submersible emerged in the center of a docking bay, one that contained only one other submersible. Probably the others had been taken by mercenaries attempting to escape and destroyed.

But there was a survivor. Well. Physically, he’d survived. Mentally… he was a little distressed. She rolled her eyes, took the antidote packs from his backpack, and told him to wait. Then she proceeded into the station, hand on her lightsaber. She was as prepared as she was going to get.

Lights flickered. Condensation dripped from the walls. The whole station had a sort of… _dark_ air about it, but not of the dark side, not like the star maps. This was… primal. _Hungry._

She withdrew her lightsaber from her belt, keeping it in her hand. Just in case.

She stepped through the first door on her left, stepping quietly into the room. Somehow this station felt more haunted than half the tombs on Korriban. Keeping quiet, she edged forward into the room.

A hand swiped at her from the shadows, and she reflexively jumped back, activating her lightsaber and brandishing it. The Selkath fell within moments, only to be replaced by three more.

She held out her hand, extending a stasis field around the room. It was a new skill, one she’d only just learned from Bastila before being captured by the Leviathan, but now was as good a time as any to make sure she could wield it well.

Two of the Selkath froze in place, and the third was easily defeated. They were weak, she noted. They weren’t warriors, after all, they were scientists, so their strength wasn’t physical, and their minds had been taken. Now they were just animals, acting on primal instinct. She cut down the last two with a shudder.

_Maybe I shouldn’t have come here alone._

But it was too late to turn back now.

The Selkath seemed to be clustered through the station in packs. She half-wondered if they descended from pack animals, if this was what their primal instincts had reverted them to, but she couldn’t answer it now and she wouldn’t have time to answer it later. For now, she just cut them down, trying her best to avoid being scratched or bitten. _It’s the damn rakghouls all over again._ Except hopefully this time if she was infected, she’d just get an infection and not a full-on monster mutation. She hoped.

The droids were a bit more of a challenge. They were the base’s security, but they’d been hacked or driven haywire by something or other, so now they were attacking everything (Selkath included, fortunately). By the time she made it to the airlock, she had a few blaster burns, one direct hit to her stomach, and a nasty burn all across her back thanks to the one that had a flamethrower. (She treated most of her wounds with kolto, but the burn was difficult to reach. It was interesting to learn how many languages she knew curse words in, though).

The flooded portion of the base provided a moment’s relief—it seemed to be devoid of any life at all. Until she saw the yellow environment suit, bouncing nervously from foot to foot near the exit to the ocean floor. Even as she took a step back, thinking maybe she could get around it, the figure saw her.

“Hey! You over there!”

She stopped.

“You’re not Selkath, I can see that much,” the man said, walking over to her. “You another rescue crew?”

She shrugged a shoulder before realizing he couldn’t see it. “Something like that.”

“I’m one of the mercs the Republic sent down here to investigate.” At least he was a little more sane than the last two she’d encountered, not that that was a high bar.

“So… what are you doing out here?”

“I figured out a way to get to the docking bay without having to go through all those crazy Selkath!” he exclaimed.

Wren gave him a skeptical look that he couldn’t see. “Aren’t mercenaries usually supposed to be good at fighting things? The Selkath got a few hits on me, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He snorted. “You weren’t watching your team getting _eaten alive,_ were you?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I came down alone.” Maybe that was a good thing, then. Though she doubted the Selkath would have been able to get the better of any of her crew.

“There you are, then. Anyway, my plan. The Republic installed a harvester closer to the rift. It has an emergency override on it. If we activate the override, we can open the doors to the docking bay from there, and we can get in from the outside.”

“...when did this become ‘we’?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he brushed her off. “We’ll have a much better chance of surviving if we work together.”

“If you say so,” she sighed. “Lead the way to this… harvester thing.”

He took a few steps onto the ocean floor as she endeavored to move her own suit forward. If there was one thing she’d suggest to the engineers next time they were designing one of these, it would be making it easier to move. This was almost as bad as spacewalking.

The mercenary shared her impatience. “Don’t just stand there, we have to keep moving! The water is filled with—” His sentence ended in a scream as a firaxan shark—presumably exactly what he’d been about to warn her about—swooped out of nowhere, grasping him firmly in its jaws, and swam away at top speed, carrying the still-screaming mercenary along with it.

Wren shut off the comm system in her suit. Better not to hear him die. She gripped the sonic emitter she’d found even more tightly. She needed to get to the south side of the base, and to do that, she needed to pass the firaxa-filled water between her and it. And according to the logs she’d found, this emitter was her only shot of surviving it.

She felt powerless. She couldn’t use the Force down here—the suit wouldn’t allow for it, and even if it would, she had no idea if Force powers could travel through water the same as it did through air. Her lightsaber was equally useless—her hands, in this suit, could barely operate the airlock and that sonic emitter, let alone activate the thumb-sized switch of the lightsaber. Even if she could wield it, she had no guarantees it would work.

So she had to just be a regular person for a while—no Force, no lightsaber, nothing to set her apart from the person she thought she’d been.

In other words, Revan was useless down here. Wren was the one who would get them through that water.

Thirty seconds later, she was proven wrong. Revan wasn’t entirely useless. If not for Revan—if not for the Force—she never would have known that shark was coming up behind her.

It wasn’t about one or the other, then. It was about both. Somehow, she needed to reconcile Wren with Revan, let them be one person, and move forward as a whole. If nothing else, it would prevent her from having a damn existential crisis in the middle of fighting Malak.

She had to let herself be Revan, she realized as she wiped out another pair of sharks. She had to know she was Revan, she had to be okay with it, and she had to move forward knowing that she had grown since then.

Revan wasn’t someone else. Revan was her past, Revan was _her,_ and she had to find a way to be okay with that. The shark-killing teamwork was helping, but it wasn’t everything. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

There were two people alive in the southern part of the base who weren’t crazy—nope, never mind. Scratch that. They were completely crazy. She was _clearly_ not a Selkath, even the scared mercenary who could only barely see her face through her visor could tell that, and yet they’d still decided it would be a brilliant idea to make her suffocate.

She’d never been good with computers, but this one wasn’t very well encrypted, fortunately. Probably they’d figured no one would be around to hack it. Whatever their reasoning, it was enough to save her life.

And then the survivors started screaming.

Wren pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping it would help with the headache. It didn’t. She let out a loud, frustrated sigh. “Stop screaming, would you? Trying to think here.”

The man stopped screaming, but the woman screamed louder. Great.

“Wait!” the man said. “Wait, Sami, I don’t think they’re here to kill us.”

Wren looked up at him, half-disbelieving, half-resigned. “You _just_ figured that out now. How long have you two been sitting back there? If it’s longer than a day, I’ll consider giving you a pass for hunger-induced paranoia.”

“Almost two days…” the man said. “I’m Kono Nolan, and this is Sami. We… we thought we were the only ones left.”

“Everyone else was dead.” Sami had stopped screaming and was now looking slightly past Wren with a haunted look in her eyes. “Dead or insane. It was that shark, Kono. It had to be.”

“Shark?” Wren asked, looking from one to the other.

Sami nodded. “We were installing some machinery near the edge of the Hrakert Rift, and this… this _monster_ rose up out of the rift. Some kind of giant firaxa, I guess. It… it was like it was screaming, but… _inside_ my head. And the firaxa swarmed, and the Selkath researchers lost their minds, and… everyone who couldn’t get to safety quickly enough was torn apart.”

Kono looked back at Wren. “What are you doing here?”

“Running away,” she said honestly. At his confused look, she added, “And looking for a Star Map. You seen any ruins or artifacts down here?”

_____________________ 

The machinery was… well, invasive. She couldn’t really blame the giant shark for wanting it gone, personally. And she wasn’t one for potentially poisoning entire ecosystems, either, so she stepped up to the computer. All she had to do was blow something up. It couldn’t be _that_ hard, could it?

Turned out it could, but she figured it out after a good bit of trial and error. The machinery destroyed itself, and the giant shark that had been guarding the bridge to the ruins Sami mentioned retreated to a safe (ish) distance. She guessed it _could_ still eat her alive in one bite, but she had to take that chance. She needed to get to the Star Forge.

Fortunately, the shark wasn’t hungry. She crossed the bridge unharmed, feeling once again the pull of the Star Map, welcoming her back as it opened its arms…

She took the data from it before returning (far too slowly, in her opinion) to the main base with a shortcut Sami and Kono had shown her. She made her way back to the submersible with one hand on her lightsaber, running into only one group of Selkath. They were still insane. Apparently the effect of the shark’s “scream” was permanent.

Unfortunately, her moment of hesitation, the brief hope that maybe she wouldn’t have to fight them, cost her. They got past her defenses, one of them seizing her arm, knocking her lightsaber away, and biting down hard on her forearm.

She yelled in pain, her eyes closing involuntarily as she felt some of the others clawing mindlessly at her.

_Is this it? Did I come all this way just to get eaten alive by crazy fish people?_

_Shut up,_ snapped another voice in the back of her head. _Let me handle it._

_Are you… actually a separate person?_

_It helps you to think of me that way,_ Revan replied shortly. She expelled a short burst of Force energy, pushing the Selkath off of her. She had several bleeding gouges in her back and arms, in addition to the bite mark on her right arm, but she was able to summon her lightsaber and make quick work of the small group.

_Poison,_ Revan said. _Deal with it in the submersible._

_Why… why haven’t you talked before?_

_You didn’t need me to._

_Am I going crazy?_

_Maybe. Who am I to judge? Let’s just get out and worry about the damn philosophy later, all right?_

They— _she—_ made it back to the submersible without encountering any other Selkath. The terrified mercenary she’d encountered earlier was gone—vanished entirely. She tried not to think about what had probably happened to him.

She took the submersible, setting it to autopilot back to the surface, and sat back to deal with her injuries. She had two medpacs left on her, as well as one of the antidote kits she'd taken from the first mercenary.

It was telling that Revan’s voice in the back of her head faded as the antidote kicked in. Was Selkath venom known for causing hallucinations? She had no idea, but it seemed a safe enough assumption.

Roland Wann was waiting for her at the surface. “Did you find what you were looking for? What happened to the station?”

“Selkath and sharks were driven insane by some giant shark. There were a few survivors, but the harvesting machine was destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” He seemed shocked, though why this came as a surprise to him after all the shit that had gone down in that facility, she had no idea. “No! That will set our work back years. It might even cost us the war.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don't guilt trip me, Wann. I did what you asked, and I make no apologies for it. Now I'm leaving.”

She brushed past him, stalking out of the embassy. She needed to get off this peaceful fucking planet, and nothing was going to stand in her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case anyone was curious, I did in fact play through this entire level alone on hard just to make sure it could be done.


	26. Thinking Past Tomorrow

“So much for getting out of here,” she muttered dejectedly from the floor of her cell.

She was alone in the prison—both Sunry and the other man were gone. Hopefully, she thought savagely, Sunry was getting what he deserved.

She let out a long breath, leaning against the bars of her cage, exhausted. A moment later, she hissed in pain and sat upright again—she’d forgotten about the wounds on her back. They weren’t bleeding (much) and the poison had been cured, but they still _hurt._

She settled for curling up on the floor instead, shifting around for a few moments until she found the position that aggravated the fewest of her wounds, and closed her eyes. She’d managed to rest a little in the submersible coming back to the surface, but she hadn’t had anything even close to a night’s sleep since they landed on Manaan. And hardly any of her rest had actually been restful since the Leviathan.

The dream of getting an hour or two of sleep, however, was crushed by the sound of the door opening. For a moment, she considered just ignoring whoever it was. Maybe they would leave if they thought she was asleep.

Then they spoke. “Can we have a moment?”

She barely heard the warden’s reply. The voice was Carth’s.

Footsteps retreated across the room and the door closed, leaving her alone in the cells. With Carth. It occurred to her after a moment’s pause that he could just kill her, right here, and be done with it. Was that why he’d come? But somehow, she couldn’t see Carth doing what Sunry had done, even to his worst enemy. If he was going to kill her, he’d at least have the courtesy to do it to her face.

“I know you’re not sleeping, Wren,” he said. His voice wasn’t accusatory, or condemning, or any of the multitude of things she’d expected. Just… stating a fact. His footsteps crossed the room until he was right next to the cage, and he knelt. “Please look at me.” He said it quietly, his voice… _raw,_ in a way she hadn’t been expecting. A way she couldn’t help responding to.

She didn’t move, but she opened her eyes at last and met the gaze she’d been dreading for days. But all the things she’d been trying to prepare herself to face—revulsion, condemnation, fear—none of that was there. She wanted desperately to believe she wasn’t imagining the softness in his eyes, the concern she’d seen in them so many times before. But how could she? Maybe some of the hallucinogenic properties of that venom hadn’t worn off yet.

All she knew was that she was Revan, and Carth hated Revan. That was all she needed to know… right?

Shifting (somewhat painfully) into a seated position, she held his gaze. “Why are you here, Carth?” The question lacked all of its intended venom. Instead, she just sounded exhausted. Appropriate, she decided. That was just about all she was, at this point. That and the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“I had to see you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked again. “One last gloat before the Selkath execute me? Something about how all of you dodged a bullet? Or did you just need the Star Map data?” She pulled out her datapad. “Take it, then. Find what’s left of the Jedi and take care of Malak. My job is done, anyway.”

“Wren, stop.”

“That’s not my name, Carth. And denial isn’t going to change anything.”

“I’m not in denial, Revan.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing her name.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing the next question was going to hurt her, needing to ask it anyway. “Then why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

He looked stricken. “You really think I could?”

“I was lying on the floor of a cage, clawed half to death by crazy Selkath. Sure you could.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t hate you.”

She blinked. _“What?”_ She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting, but that sure wasn’t it.

“Believe me, I tried,” he added. “I wanted to hold you responsible for everything you— _Revan—_ did. For Morgana, Telos… Dustil. But I can’t.”

Damn that desperate bubble of hope that was slowly growing inside her chest. She couldn’t hope now—he wasn’t thinking straight, or he’d forgotten the full magnitude of her crimes, or he still hadn’t quite accepted that she and Revan were one and the same. “You should,” she said, quiet but clear. “Malak destroyed Telos, and I punished him for it, but Malak never would have fallen in the first place if not for me. Those deaths are on me. Saul Karath’s fall—my fault. Your wife’s death—my fault. Telos, Taris, Dantooine—my fault. I can’t even blame the dark side, it was just… me. So I don’t know what’s screwing with your perceptions, but I _am_ responsible for all of that. How could you not hate me?”

The look on his face was _shattered. Good,_ she thought, even as the knife twisted deeper into her gut. _He sees me for who I really am._

“Because I know you,” he said. One of his hands reached between the bars of her cell, like he meant to touch her, but at the last moment he changed his mind, gripping the bars instead. She stilled, barely breathing, barely daring to hope but not being able to resist. “And I know that whatever you were… whatever part of Revan is inside you, the—the darkness that must surely be there, it _isn’t who you are._ You don’t have to be Revan. You can be _so_ much more. You already are. Whatever the Jedi did to you, they gave you that chance.”

She stiffened, starting to pull back, but he kept going.

“I’m not excusing them. They destroyed you, they put you through months of doubt and fear and suffering and I’m not saying it wasn’t horribly wrong of them. But you… you took what they did to you, and you made it something _good._ They may have given you your memories, but everything else, everything you did—that was _you._ I can’t hate you because I know who you are.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the bars of her cage. “I’m tired of revenge, Revan. And you… shouldn’t have to face this alone.” He met her eyes again. “I can…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. But… there’s going to come a time, very soon, when you’re going to have to make a choice. And there won’t be any turning back.” His eyes said everything—he was telling the truth. She could see it, she could feel it. “I want you to make the right choice. I want to give you a reason to.”

Her heart caught in her throat as she shifted towards him, placing her hands on the bars between them. “What sort of reason?”

His hands covered hers without a moment of hesitation. “You gave me a future,” he all but whispered. “I want to return the favor.”

She didn’t dare ask what he meant. It was too much to hope. She just closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I… don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The door opened before he could respond. **“Wren Grua?”** the Selkath warden called. **“The judges have assembled for your trial.”**

 _______________

The warden escorted her out of the cells and over to the courtroom, choosing not to comment on Carth’s blatant refusal to leave her side.

“Carth,” she said quietly as they entered the courtroom. “If they convict me—”

“Don’t say that,” he cut her off sharply.

“Carth, you need to hear this. Because they might. If they do, I need you to take that data, go to Coruscant, or the fleet, or something, but make sure it gets to the Jedi. Surely they can take it from here.”

“And what about you? Are we supposed to just leave you here?”

“Assuming they don’t execute me? You can come back and try to negotiate my release once the data has been taken care of.”

“And if they do? Sentence you to death?”

She smiled sadly. “Then let me die. Carth, listen,” she added as he opened his mouth to protest. “I shouldn’t even be alive. The Jedi mean for me to die stopping Malak.”

“Who cares what the Jedi want?” His eyes held her in place, begging her… she didn’t know what, but she couldn’t bear the sight of him in such obvious torment. “I can’t lose you, Wren. Revan. Not now.”

She closed her eyes, unable to look at him. “You might have to.”

His hands were on her shoulders, pulling her to him, and she relaxed into his embrace, biting back a noise of pain as his hands brushed against her wounds. “I’m not giving up on you,” was all he said, and he pulled back, walking beside her to stand in front of the judges.

She took a deep breath as the judges formally began the proceedings. She was going to have to take some chances if she was going to explain this one.

**“Well, human, you find yourself in a most difficult situation,”** one of the judges began—Shelkar, she thought. **“The Hrakert Rift is the most precious resource on Manaan, and anything that threatens it or the kolto it produces threatens our entire species.”**

**“We will not tolerate threats to our neutrality, our existence, or our way of life!”** another judge interjected angrily—at least, she thought it sounded angry. Selkath tones of voice were difficult to pinpoint.

**“As much as we may admire your Republic and your Order in particular, I believe you will have a hard time explaining your role in this incident adequately.”**

**“We have determined that you are responsible for the detonations that occurred near the Hrakert Rift. We demand to know what occurred down there!”**

**“If the Republic has broken its neutrality treaty with us, the repercussions will be very grave indeed.”**

**“Now, human, what have you done to the Rift?”**

She took a deep breath, glancing sideways at Carth. His eyes were fixed on her, body tense and brow furrowed, and it occurred to her that he had no more idea what had happened down there than the Selkath did. He didn’t even know if she was innocent. Hell, _she_ didn’t even know if she was innocent. Based on the alternative, she liked to think she’d done the right thing, but she had no guarantee they’d see it that way.

“The explosions were at the research station both our governments set up there.” It was the truth, even if it had only been part of the Selkath government. She had to hope that at least some of the judges knew about it.

The one who responded immediately clearly didn’t. **“Research station?! What are you talking about? Do not try to lie to us, human!”**

**“We know of this,”** Shelkar cut in. Wren breathed a sigh of relief.

**“What?!”**

**“It will be discussed later,”** Shelkar declared, leaving no room for argument.

His colleague argued anyway. **“This cannot be kept silent! The Council will—”**

**“The Council will hear nothing of this! And you will keep your silence or be ejected from the court!”**

Wren looked between the judges, eyebrows raised. “Dissention in the ranks,” she muttered to Carth. “Never thought I’d see it here, of all places.”

Shelkar returned his attention to Wren after fixing his argumentative colleague with a withering stare. **“What has happened at the research station? What caused the explosions?”**

“The machinery had woken up a giant firaxan shark.”

**“A giant firaxan? Could it be…?”**

**“Impossible! It is only a legend!”**

**“But she said she killed it… didn’t she?”**

**“You killed this shark, human?”** Shelkar asked.

Wren shook her head, reflecting inwardly that the trial seemed to be far less about her and far more about the Selkath themselves. While she was eager for it to be over, the insight this was providing into their culture, their beliefs, and their struggles was fascinating. “I destroyed the machinery to save it,” she corrected. “That’s what caused the explosions.”

**“The Progenitor… it must have been!”**

**“Be quiet! That is merely a myth, and not fit for outsiders to hear!”**

**“But if it was the life-bringer… the ancestor of our species… think of what it could mean!”**

**“If it always laired there, then perhaps the kolto…”**

**“Enough! Off-worlders are not to hear such things!”**

**“But she said she saved it. She destroyed the harvesters to save it.”**

**“Indeed,”** Shelkar agreed. **“This casts your actions in a new light, human. This, I believe, will require more thought… both on your actions, and on what we must do in response. The court will adjourn while we deliberate.”**

The judges filed out one by one, leaving Wren and Carth alone in the courtroom with a pair of Selkath guarding the door.

Carth took her hand, turning her to face him. “Hey. What happened down there?” He still looked worried.

“Exactly what I said,” she told him. “The Republic and elements of the Selkath government set up a research station, because those elements saw the threat of the Sith and wanted to help the Republic however they could. That’s where the Star Map was, down there by the Rift. That’s also where this giant firaxan shark was living. It woke up, started attacking the machinery, and made some sort of… of _scream_ that drove the firaxa and the Selkath in the area insane. The Selkath researchers turned on the others, started killing at random. They were… _primal,_ I guess you’d say. Like a Wookiee gone mad. None of them spoke, they just… screamed, and attacked. I had to kill them all, of course.” She sighed. “I have no idea if they could have been cured once the shark was appeased, but…”

He brushed the hair out of her eyes, gently cupping her face. “Hey. You did the best you could. And you saved a Selkath legend. That has to count for something, right?”

She inclined her head. “At the very least, they probably won’t execute me now.”

“Good,” Carth said. “Though I’d have liked to see them try.”

She eyed him. “Really?”

“No,” he admitted. “The last thing I want is to see you hurt. But I’d fight every Selkath in this city before I let them kill you.”

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth brought on by his declaration seep through her. She’d missed this.

“Whatever happens,” he continued, pulling her close, being careful to avoid her wounds this time. “I’m not leaving you. Never again.”

She let her head fall onto his chest, breathing him in, taking in the sensation of being supported and… and _not alone._

They only broke apart when the judges returned, taking their places at the front of the chamber.

**“We have reviewed your actions and the situation, human,”** Shelkar began. **“We thank you for the destruction of the machinery and saving the giant firaxan which, we believe, is the source of our kolto, or at least its guardian. We will not detain you any longer. While we cannot show our gratitude overtly, know that you have earned our respect. This trial is now over.”**

Wren bowed her head with a small smile. “Thank you. And good luck to you.” And she turned and left the room, with Carth right behind her.

 ________________________

They walked back to the spaceport in comfortable silence. She stumbled a little on the way out of the courtroom—with the trial over with, the exhaustion was starting to catch up with her again—but Carth caught her without comment and took her by the arm, ready to support her should the need arise.

When they reached the spaceport, though, she stopped. Vek was standing outside the nearest docking bay. She checked her chrono—she was late, but not by much.

She let go of Carth. “Get back to the ship,” she said. “I’ll be right there, just need to finish up something.”

He frowned. “Are you—?”

“I’ll be fine, Carth. Please.”

He nodded slowly, though it was obvious he didn’t like it, and headed back towards the ship.

Wren approached Vek. “Sorry I’m late, I was in jail.”

Vek gave her a sideways look but apparently decided not to ask. **“I must take your weapons before you enter,”** he said.

She gave him an indulgent smile. “Of course, of course. But… I’m sorry to pry, but it sounded like he’s not a very good boss. Am I wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes. **“What are you suggesting?”**

She shrugged casually. “Just that if you were to… say… take a break, get yourself an alibi, you might find yourself open to a new world of opportunities. Ones that don’t involve you seeing a fawning, servile look in your mirror every morning.”

He thought about this. **“You know what? You’re right,”** he decided. **“Ithorak has taken advantage of me for too long. Good luck, human. He is formidable.”** And he left the spaceport without a backward glance.

Wren turned her attention to his guard droid. Sure, she’d probably die if she tried to fight Ithorak in her current state… but what if she didn’t have to?

She squatted down beside the droid and set to work.

 ___________________

She returned to the _Hawk_ ten minutes later, having confirmed beyond a doubt that Ithorak Guldar was dead. _One down, two to go._

“Head for Tatooine,” she called out as she stepped on board. “We’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”

_“Su cuy’gar,_ Grua,” Canderous called from the garage. “What ends?”

“That box you got on Korriban, for one thing.”

“And the others?”

“That’s for me to know and you to trust me on.”

She mock-saluted him and moved on through the ship, making sure Carth had heard their destination, and ending up in the medbay.

Jolee was against the opposite wall with his back to her, organizing the supplies or whatever it was he did in his spare time. “So you’ve come to your senses, have you?” he grunted. “About time.”

She crossed her arms. “And you accuse _me_ of being impatient.”

“I’m old, damn it,” he replied, turning to face her. “I’m entitled to be grumpy once in a while.”

“If ‘once in a while’ means ‘always,’ you’re all set.”

He huffed. “So is it Wren or Revan?” he asked after a moment.

She shrugged. “Honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me. Revan is… someone different than I am, but also someone I _was,_ and someone that’s still a part of me. Wren is who the Jedi Council tried to _make_ me, but at the same time, she’s who I made myself. So, I guess… both.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Good answer. You’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve had the time for it,” she said. Then she remembered something. “What happened with Sunry?”

Jolee’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Imprisonment for life,” he said. “Turning him in avoided sanctions on the Republic, but…”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Not your fault, lass.” He looked up at her. “Though I might caution against using such information-gathering techniques in the future. That is… a fine line to walk.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

She stepped into the room fully, sitting down on the cot. “While we’re being honest with each other,” she ventured after a few more moments of silence, “why don’t you tell me why you really left Kashyyyk?”

He groaned. “Are we back to _that_ again?”

She shrugged. “You never answered the first three or four times I asked, so sure.”

He sighed. “Hmm, what’s the best way for me to approach this. Ah, perhaps it’s time for a little story…”

Wren raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”

“You just keep quiet there, you! I’ve had to put up with all your busybody questions, now you’ll listen to a story, damn it! Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, the story. You almost made me forget about it.” He gave her a discerning look. “Nice try, but I’m not that old just yet.” He chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Now, then. A young man sees a terribly venomous snake in his village. Nervous, he watches the snake carefully until it leaves. The young man follows the snake into the forest. He clears the branches out of its path and helps it over obstacles. He even works to keep it fed.”

“This is a very long story,” Wren observed, picking at her fingernails.

“Shush!” was all she got in response. “Many nights pass and still the young man continues to follow the snake. He even follows it into the sands of the great desert. In the desert, the snake eventually grows hungry. It turns and bites the young man, its poison quickly working its way into his system. Finally curious, the snake looks at the boy as he lays dying and asks, ‘Why were you foolish enough to follow me all the way out into the desert?’ The boy looks back and replies, ‘Did I follow you? I thought I was leading you away from everyone else.’ And then he died.”

Wren took a breath and blew it out, all humor gone from inside her chest. What was left was… she didn’t even know. Emptiness? Hurt? Trepidation, even? She didn’t know. “I’m supposed to be the snake, I take it. You said you knew who I was.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

He sat down beside her on the cot, patting her shoulder. “Well, now, that’s what I wanted to see for myself.”

She looked sideways at him. “That’s a long way to come just to see if I’ll bite you someday.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve come a long way as it is, and I’m going to die anyway so that doesn’t bother me in the least. I’ve told you before that you have a destiny before you. That doesn’t mean that your future is already written. They are not the same thing. You have the choice of which direction you take your destiny in. More than engine-sucking Andor, certainly… but even he had a choice. So far… for the most part, you’ve chosen to take the lighter path. Can you stay that course, even through the challenges ahead? We’ll have to wait and see. I’m not here to judge you or tell you which path you should take. I’m here ready to offer you my help… should you ask for it. I do that because I think it’s important. More important than remaining in my home and pretending the galaxy doesn’t exist. _That’s_ why I’m here.”

As he spoke, the unpleasant feeling slowly began to drain from her, leaving behind gratitude and… something like peace. He hadn’t come to spy on her because Revan was dangerous. He’d come to help her, in his own way. And he had. More than he probably knew.

She turned to face him fully, smiling, but with sudden tears in her eyes. “Thank you. After… well, after what I just… you have no idea what that means to me. I’m glad you’re here. Really.”

“I’m rather glad I came, too, really. You’re a fine young lass. I hope… I hope things turn out well for you.”

She hugged him, and he returned the embrace readily. When they broke apart, she stood to leave, a goodbye on the tip of her tongue—then she stopped.

“Jolee,” she said slowly. “Am I remembering correctly that you said you needed to teach me proper healing?”

He smiled. “For once, I won’t begrudge you continuing to bother me. Have a seat, lass.”

She sat.

“Now, from what I’ve seen of how you work, you use the Force as a conduit, a way to transfer strength from yourself to someone else or vice versa, is that correct?”

She nodded.

“You’ve got the right idea—the Force can be a conduit, but in practice, it can also be a _source_ of that energy. Let me show you…”

 _______________________

Carth was alone in the cockpit when she fell into the copilot’s seat a few hours later. “On course for Tatooine?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking over at her. Then, “Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

She waved him off. “Jolee was teaching me proper healing techniques.”

“So you’ll be able to heal yourself now, instead of just everyone else?”

“It’ll take some practice, but that’s the idea, yeah.”

He smiled. “Good. I—I’m glad.” His expression sobered. “You have no idea how worried I was, Wren. First the Sith base, then the research facility—alone. You could’ve died. You could’ve died thinking I hated you, and I…” He broke off.

She reached across the console, and he took the offered hand. “Hey,” she said. “It’s not your fault. You were dealing with a lot, you needed time to process—”

“Which I should have taken _before_ lashing out at you like that. I’m sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. “You have to know you’re forgiven.”

He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sounds familiar, huh?” He looked away. “Be honest with me,” he said at last. “If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t said all those things, would you have run off on your own?”

“I…” It was her turn to look away. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to talk about it—to anyone—and I didn’t want to face it, so… probably? But I don’t know. Does it matter?”

He looked back over at her. “I almost got you killed, Wren.”

She shook her head. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Then what was it? Because you almost died and no one was there to protect you and—”

“Carth, I was being a damned idiot and running away from my problems, okay? It had everything to do with the fact that _I am Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith,_ and nothing—well, very little—to do with how you reacted to it.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

_“Yes,_ I’m sure, because I was doing my utmost not to think about that,” she cut him off. She sighed, squeezing his hand again before letting go and walking around the console to stand behind him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…” She stopped.

He turned his chair and stood, taking her hands in his. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re here, you’re alive. You’re fine. I just…” His brow furrowed, something like _anguish_ coming through his eyes, and her heart seized. “If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do,” he said at last, unexpectedly blunt. “You reminded me how to live, you—you showed me meaning beyond my revenge. If you died…”

“Hey.” She reached up to gently caress his face. “Look at me. I’m not going anywhere, Carth.”

“Other than to fight the Dark Lord of the Sith, you mean.”

She half-smiled. “I _am_ the Dark Lord of the Sith, remember?” He gave her a look. “Sorry. But it’s true. I have within me all the power that Malak was so afraid to face. Whatever he’s become…” and again there was a flash of that unbearable sadness as she remembered her best friend from so long ago, “...I’m stronger. I have to believe that.”

“I was right before, then,” he said, half to himself. Wren tipped her head to one side, confused. “When I said there was some terrible fate waiting for you, and the Jedi knew it. They _planned_ it.”

She nodded. “I have no doubt they want me to die. The redeemed hero, Revan, dies righting her own mistake. Then there’s no fallout of my “redemption”—because if that goes public, people are going to have problems—and Malak is defeated. Best of both worlds.”

He shook his head. “They’re underestimating you. They’re not the first and they won’t be the last, because you’re going to live, Revan. You have to.”

“If only to prove the Jedi wrong,” she agreed with a smirk. “Spite is a powerful motivator.”

“Not just that,” he said. “It’s because…” He cut himself off, frowning. “Remember what I said back in that jail?”

“You said a lot of things in jail, dear. You may have to elaborate.”

“You gave me a future,” he repeated.

“You want to return the favor,” Wren finished slowly, even as her heart beat faster.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “And… and if you want it… I want that future to be—to be the two of us. Together.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her mind was blank, her heart was in overdrive—had she heard wrong? Had he actually said—?

“Revan?”

She kissed him. There were no words for what she was feeling. Even if there had been, she didn’t think she was capable of speaking.

Finally she pulled back, a wide smile stretching across her face. “I love you,” she said. “Force, I think I’ve loved you since you told me you’d help me run away from the Jedi.”

He smiled back, eyes filled with that emotion she’d seen there before but never been able to name— _love._ “I—I’m glad,” he stammered. “Let’s… let’s face the future together, then.” There was a pause. “I should…” He gestured over his shoulder at the instrument panel.

“I should probably check in on the box,” she said, and they separated completely. “Carth,” she called over her shoulder from the cockpit door.

“Yeah?”

“You called me Revan.” She grinned, not entirely sure why the address made her quite as happy as it did, and headed for the cargo hold.

 ____________________

A few hours out from Tatooine, the door to the hold opened and she turned, lowering her lightsaber when she saw Canderous.

“Grua,” he greeted.

“Canderous,” she returned. “How can I help you?”

“You can’t,” he said immediately. “But I figured you should know. While you were MIA on Manaan, I ran into… an old friend, I guess you could say. We served together during the war, until the battle of Althir. I gave an order, and I thought he and the rest of my men had died.”

She eyed him. “Did you know it would get them killed?”

He nodded. “It seemed like the most prudent course of action at the time. Their sacrifice enabled us to win that battle, or so I thought. Jagi sees it differently.”

“And?”

“He’s challenged me. We fight one on one, in the Dune Sea. It shouldn’t take long, but I thought I’d let you know.”

She shook her head. “Out of the question. I’m coming with you.” She held up a hand as he started to protest. “I won’t interfere if you don’t want me to. But I need to be there. If nothing else, so that I know if you die. And…” She bit her lip. “There’s something else.”

“You’re looking shady all of a sudden, Grua.”

She gave him a look. “Awfully perceptive of you. I’ve taken a few… contracts. Dangerous people doing dangerous things, you know how it is. I took out one of them on Manaan, but the others are on Tatooine, probably in the Dune Sea, and I could use some help taking them down. With discretion.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ve got your back,” he said.


	27. Threads

Tatooine was enough of a detour to allow T3 to combine all the data from the Star Maps, and it allowed her to get rid of that damn box before anyone _else_ opened it. (Not that she lacked faith in her companions’ riddle solving abilities, but better safe than sorry.)

She took the box to the Hutt alone, managing to persuade an extra thousand credits out of him for the risk to her consciousness the box had posed, and headed out to the cantina. Canderous had agreed to meet her by the gates to the Dune Sea.

Hulas was waiting. **“Surely you have not yet managed to achieve both kills?”** The look he gave her was probably something to the effect of incredulous.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I simply wondered if you had any more information on their locations. The Dune Sea is a big place.”

**“We have obtained the approximate location of Vorn’s camp,”** Hulas said, inputting the coordinates into her datapad. **“Rulan has been more difficult to track—we know that he is here, and we know that he is not in the city. Beyond that, I cannot help you.”**

She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Be warned, though: if this takes too long, I can’t stay. Duty calls.”

**“Understood, Wren Grua. Good luck to you.”**

She nodded her thanks and walked away.

Outside the cantina, she all but literally collided with a Jawa.

**“Leader of your clan,”** he said. **“Iziz of Jawa brings mighty gift for Jedi.”**

She blinked. “What?”

**“My people have returned from ghosts in the sand. Clan of Iziz will trade, but Iziz bring this.”** He held out a hand.

In his hand was a crystal, glowing faintly with orange light, pulsing with Force energy.

**“Take crystal,”** he said. **“Win mighty battle. Force be with you.”** He dropped the crystal into her hand and scurried off before she could even say another word.

Canderous was waiting, holding his blaster rifle and looking menacing enough that the gate guard was shooting him nervous looks periodically. As Wren approached, he nodded to her. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she agreed.

They set off in silence.

 ____________________

The agreed-upon meeting point wasn’t far from Anchorhead, and Jagi was already waiting.

“So you managed to come after all,” he addressed Canderous. “I see you brought a friend.”

“You brought some of your own as well,” Canderous pointed out, indicating the Rodian and the Twi’lek flanking him.

Jagi chuckled. “Indeed I did. I foresaw you might need help so I arranged a distraction.”

Wren narrowed her eyes at him. “I came with no intention of interfering. However, since you’ve decided not to play fair, I see no reason why I shouldn’t join the fun.”

“I don’t need to hear your excuses, Jedi,” he sneered. “I know why he brought you.”

If he’d had any idea who she was, he wouldn’t have said a word. But he’d never believe her if she told him.

“Enough of this talk, Jagi!” Canderous called, hefting his blaster rifle. “Let’s do what we came here to do!” He looked over at Wren. “Take the other two. Leave him to me.”

On a sudden impulse, though, Wren shook her head. She saw something—felt it too, maybe—in Canderous’ eyes. A flicker of doubt. “Wait,” she said, loud enough for both of them to hear. “Explain to me what’s going on. Both of you.”

Both men looked at her, glanced at each other to make sure it wasn’t some kind of trap, then back to her.

Canderous spoke first. “He has slandered me and questioned my honor. Among the Mandalore, many have died for much lesser insults.”

“I speak truth!” Jagi spat. “And honor is the question here. The deaths of my comrades, your warriors, is a debt of blood that can only be paid by you. When you saw prospects for glory, you abandoned the plan and left us to die surrounded by enemies!”

“If I had not attacked when I did, the battle would not have been won so easily!”

“It would still have been won,” Jagi snapped. “You sent your own men to die there, Canderous. I cannot forgive you for what you did to us. You will pay!”

Wren looked at Canderous. “He says you abandoned him and your men to die.” She glanced at Jagi. “Forgive me if I think that seems a little uncharacteristic. Is it true?”

Canderous frowned at her. “The Althiri were fighting hard. I saw a break in their defenses that left their center exposed, I had to take the chance. If I had not done what I did, many more warriors would have died and the battle would have taken much longer. I stand by my decision.”

“You coward!” Jagi snarled. “You glory hunter! You were given direct orders and were part of a plan! You had a responsibility to us!”

Canderous faltered for a moment. “I… I can regret their loss. But it was necessary.”

Wren nodded. “He’s right, you know,” she said. “No plan survives contact with the enemy, right? If you see an opening like that, you take it, and you don’t hesitate. Mandalorians of all people should understand that hesitation gets you killed.”

“He left us to die when his responsibility was to us!” Jagi argued.

“His responsibility was to his people first and foremost,” Wren shot back. “If he saved more lives by ending that battle, who are you to say he wasn’t justified?”

“Mandalore taught us that opportunism and flexibility in battle were to be admired,” Canderous added. “You may contradict me, but do you contradict him as well?”

She could see the exact moment Jagi caved. Feel it, almost. “I… no. I… see that I have been wrong. I haven’t been true to the teachings of Mandalore. You were right. I was wrong to question your honor. But now I must cleanse mine with my life.”

Wren felt… heavy, in a way. She knew what he was about to do. But it wasn’t her place to stop him.

Jagi pulled out a blade, turning it in on himself.

“And so it shall be,” Canderous said quietly.

Jagi fell, twitched for a moment, and moved no more.

Canderous looked… not troubled, not exactly, but… _introspective,_ maybe. But for the moment, they had a more immediate problem. Whatever mercenaries Jagi had brought with him seemed rather uninclined to back down.

“Take the Twi’lek,” Wren said to Canderous. “I’ve got the Rodian.”

The Twi’lek had drawn a blaster, and within moments he and Canderous were engaged in a duel at a distance while Wren moved to intercept the Rodian, who was charging at her with a vibroblade. She caught his blade on hers, shoving to one side. He shoved back with significantly more strength than she tended to expect from Rodians, and she stumbled a little before regaining her balance and shoving a hand at him with the full intent of freezing him in a stasis field.

It had no effect whatsoever.

“Nice try, Jedi,” he said in perfect Basic. “I think maybe I’ll give you a bit more of a challenge.” He took two steps back, there was a flash of light, and he was replaced by—

“Fuck!” Wren yelled, taking another unconscious step backwards and almost tripping over Jagi as a terentatek took the place of the Rodian.

“Looks like you found your shapeshifter, Grua,” she heard Canderous call, sounding far too amused by the turn of events.

“You think?” she yelled back, readying her lightsaber. “You think you scare me, Prolik?” she hissed. “Try again.” And she leaped at him.

Rulan had successfully embodied the physicality of the monster, and even the Force resistance, but for all that he was a perfect copy of a terentatek, he couldn’t quite capture the _darkness._ And maybe he’d practiced in this form—Force knew how long he’d been alive, after all, or how long he’d been like this—but either she’d gotten better since the last terentateks she’d fought, or he was just a _bit_ more sluggish than they’d been. Maybe a combination of the two. As they fought, she felt more in tune with the Force than ever—and he may be immune to her powers, but he was still present in the Force, just like every other living thing. As she adjusted to his presence, it was almost like the battle became more about _feeling_ than _seeing._

But just as she was about to strike the killing blow, he vanished in another flash of light. Momentarily blinded, she lost him. Staring around, blinking as hard as she could trying to clear her vision, she came up with nothing.

But then she _felt_ something. The tiniest twitch, at the corner of her awareness, and she reached out blindly with the Force, projecting her will out into it. She felt whatever it was freeze in place as the stasis took hold.

Apparently stasis didn’t prevent him from shapeshifting, though. There was another flash, and suddenly, lying on the ground maybe a dozen paces away, was—

“Malak?” Her voice was quiet as she stepped toward him. She knew it wasn’t him, she _knew_ , but the part of her that was Revan looked and saw her friend—and it _was_ her friend, this was Malak as he had been, before darkness twisted him, his eyes darker, his face intact—and couldn’t see anything beyond that.

“Grua?” Canderous took a step closer, but it was too late. The stasis fell away, the figure got to his feet, standing straight, and _fuck,_ she couldn’t—

“Why did you betray me, Revan?” he asked quietly.

She gaped at him. “I…”

“You blame me for betraying you, but you abandoned me to the darkness long before that. I never would have fallen if you hadn’t decided success was more important than—”

There was a single charged blast, and Malak froze for a moment, cut off mid-word, before collapsing to his knees and falling flat on his face, dead. After a few seconds of ringing silence, there was a final flash of light and he disappeared, leaving only a shriveled humanoid corpse where he had once been.

Canderous met Wren’s eyes, lowering his blaster rifle slowly. “Grua?”

She stared back at him, mouth still open. “I… how did he know…? I didn’t even remember…”

Canderous shot another few rounds into the shriveled corpse. “For all we know, he was making it all up, trying to get to you. Don’t let him succeed.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right… thanks. If you hadn’t been here he’d have killed me.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it.” There was something, though, in the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes, in the way she could still feel the doubt that had led her to question his duel with Jagi.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “That… can’t have been easy.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. I… think this has affected me in ways I… didn’t expect. But right now we have a job to do, and I need some time to sort this out.” He met her eyes. “Thank you, Revan. For what you did.”

She held his gaze. “Any time, Canderous.”

He nodded. “So. You have one more of these contracts to finish up?”

 ________________________

After the shapeshifter, defeating Vorn was almost too easy. His camp was right where Hulas had said—he wasn’t in it, but his assault droid was guarding it. Disabling the droid instead of destroying it, Wren altered its programming to attack its master on sight.

Then they waited.

Wren hated waiting. It gave her too much time to think.

What the shapeshifter had said… could it possibly have been true? He’d known she was Revan, he must have somehow been able to draw her thoughts out of her mind to learn what shape might distract her. Could he have somehow reached into the thoughts that even she couldn’t remember?

The more she thought about it, the more plausible it sounded. Revan, ever the tactician, making the conscious choice to let Malak fall to the dark side, sacrificing him in the name of her strategy.

Similar to Canderous and Jagi’s situation, in a way. But in this situation… Revan had failed. Canderous’ plan had succeeded, they’d won the battle, lives had been saved. But Malak’s sacrifice… he hadn’t died. And he’d gone on to murder trillions.

There was no justification. She’d abandoned her best friend to stumble blindly into darkness that would destroy him. And not only him. Telos, Taris, Dantooine…

Killing Vorn, even with the assault droid’s help, was enough of a challenge to be a distraction. They killed him, she destroyed the droid, and they made their way back towards Anchorhead.

Canderous, fortunately, seemed to have thought his way through what had happened. “Grua,” he said suddenly.

She looked over at him. “You all right?”

He nodded slowly, his gait slowing a little as he thought. “Hitting that center was a gamble, and I staked my men’s lives on it,” he said at last. “No, more than that. I sacrificed them for it. If it had failed… would it still have been the right decision?”

She eyed him for a moment. “Are you asking me as your friend, or as Revan?” She shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I… suppose the only answer I can give is, does it matter? You took a gamble, and you succeeded, and that’s enough to make it the right call.” She looked away. “Revan commanded armies, not soldiers,” she said quietly. “That’s why. Easier to tactically send people to their deaths when they’re figures on a war table, instead of comrades.”

He nodded again. “I should know better than to dwell on the past, anyway. Or to encourage you to dwell on yours.” He looked at her. “You know more than anyone how much I respect Revan. But you are who you are too, Grua. Revan was great. You can be greater.”

For the first time since entering the Dune Sea, she smiled. “Coming from you? That means a lot.”

 _________________

Hulas was the last loose end.

She entered the cantina alone, as they’d agreed. “It’s done,” she said, not even bothering to sit.

**“Vorn, Rulan, Ithorak—that is all of them!”** he exclaimed. **“You have done it, Revan! I hardly believed it was possible, yet now the task is done. All the years of planning. Spying and digging to discover their true identities—it was all worth it! Now the Genoharadan are mine alone!”**

Wren frowned. “All right, you’ve lost me. I thought these were random contracts?”

**“Poor, foolish Wren,”** he sighed. **“You had no idea that the targets I sent you to eliminate were three of the Overseers of the Genoharadan, did you?”**

She narrowed her eyes. “Elaborate,” she said. “And do it. Very. Carefully.”

**“The Overseers have always acted in secret, their true identities hidden from the guild and even each other to prevent one person from seizing control. But now they are dead, and I am the only Overseer left in the guild! All the agents of the Genoharadan are mine to command! And I couldn’t have done it without your help.”**

Wren’s eyes were slits. “You used me,” she hissed, her fist clenching under the table. Hulas leaned back, reaching for his throat, clawing at the invisible force there. “I thought I’d avoid doing this again, if I could,” she said. “But given recent events, being _used_ is a bit of a touchy subject for me.” A slow, dangerous grin spread across her face. “You should’ve stayed on Manaan, where someone would’ve noticed when I killed you.” She jerked her fist to one side, and he slumped in his chair. Dead. “I’d say I’m sorry it came to this,” she said, “but I’d be lying.”


	28. Ready as We'll Ever Be

T3 was waiting at the ship’s entrance. The data had been combined, cross-referenced with known databases, and he, Mission, and Carth had managed to narrow it down to one system and plot a (most likely) safe hyperspace route.

They were ready.

They gathered in the main hold one last time at Wren’s request.

“This is it,” she said. “When we come out of hyperspace, we’ll be in the Star Forge system. Malak is there. Bastila must be there too.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going in there. If the Jedi have their way, I’m not coming out. But I’m going to do my damnedest to prove them wrong. Who’s with me?”

Canderous stepped forward and set his fist on the center console. “You think I’d let you win all that glory without me? Count me in.”

Mission nudged Zaalbar. “We’re with ya,” she said. “Not letting you run off and save the galaxy on your own.”

T3 beeped an agreement. HK simply said, “HK-47 is ready to serve, Master.” There was a note of dark glee to his voice, like he knew this particular venture would result in the extermination of a gratuitous amount of meatbags. Wren grinned.

Jolee huffed. “Kids these days. Thinking we’ll run out on them at the last minute.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I plan to see your destiny through, lass. Let’s get on with it.”

She locked eyes with Carth, still smiling, and he smiled back. “I’m with you,” he said.

She took another breath, looking back across the group. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go. T3 says the route we’ve calculated gets us there in just under five days. Everyone get comfortable.”

She followed Carth to the cockpit, as was pretty much standard procedure at this point, and helped him prepare for the jump. They programmed the route in silence, then sat back in their respective chairs as the ship lurched into hyperspace.

She looked over at him. His gaze was fixed on the front viewport, but his eyes were far away, looking to the past or the future, or maybe some distant planet where his son would be waiting.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

He started, looking over at her a little sheepishly, like he’d been caught red-handed in something. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Thinking about—”

“Dustil?” She gave him a knowing look, head tipped to one side.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

She nodded. She’d been expecting it. “I guess we’re all thinking about the things we’re leaving behind,” she said quietly.

His brows drew together as he looked across at her. “And what about you?”

She sighed. “Only thing I left behind is the thing I’m going to destroy.”

His brow furrowed further, this time in confusion. “The Star Forge?”

She shook her head, slumping back into her chair. “Malak.”

His expression cleared, and he breathed a soft, “Oh,” before standing and moving across the cockpit to stand behind her, hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head again. “I… the galaxy thinks of them as master and apprentice, but there was a time before that. We grew up together. The two of us, and Anika Surik. When we went to the Unknown Regions, she… didn’t follow. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, but even Malak… had his doubts about the whole thing. I convinced him. Persuaded him to follow me. And when he started to succumb I did nothing to stop it. He… he fell because of _me,_ Carth. He fell… I think… farther than I ever did. I don’t _know,_ I still don’t remember everything, but…”

“Hey.” He moved around her chair to kneel at her side, taking her hand and looking up into her face. “You may have encouraged him, you may have convinced him, but in the end, it was always his choice. He could have turned away. You can’t blame yourself, Revan.”

“I never knew,” she said sadly. “At least… I _hope_ I never knew what it would do to him. Even if I had… I have to wonder if, back then… I might have said it was worth it.”

He squeezed her hand, rising to his feet and pulling her with him. “You’re not who you were. Revan or not, you’ve changed. You’re better.”

She allowed herself a sad smile. “I wish it was enough.” She held up a hand as he started to protest. “I’m going to live,” she said, and the flash of relief across his face left no doubt as to what his concern had been. “I’m going to live, and I’m going to do everything I can to atone for my mistakes. But I… he doesn’t want to be saved. It’s too late for him. And that, at least, is partially my fault.”

His thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of her hand. “You’ve always said the dark side is a choice,” he said. “Let him be responsible for his.”

“But—”

“Revan. You started him on the path. He chose to continue down it.”

She hesitated for a few moments longer before finally giving in, wrapping her arms around him and leaning into him. “Okay,” she said quietly. Then, “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to worry about that,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. I’m never leaving again unless you ask me to.”

She said nothing, just leaned into him further and closed her eyes. She could get used to this, she thought.

 ________________________

She was meditating, crafting a second lightsaber to house the crystal Iziz had given her, when it happened. She felt—

_Pain. Intense, electrifying pain, and was she having another memory? She didn’t know why she would be, they were usually triggered by something, and the painful ones were usually only triggered by pain, and—_

_Her eyes opened, and she was looking at a stone room. She struggled against her bonds, but she was chained securely to the stone slab against the back wall of the chamber. Through the doorway, she could just catch a glimpse of a sentry turret. Droids stood guard on either side of the door, and in the room itself—_

_Malak._

_“You are strong, child. But I will break you.”_

_Another burst of pain, and she knew where it was coming from this time. Malak was torturing her. But child? He’d never called her child._

I will not break. I will not break. There is no emotion, there is peace. _The thoughts resounded clearly through her mind, and they weren’t hers._

_Bastila._

_Knowing where she was now, knowing she was reaching through their bond, she pushed further, trying to lend her strength._

No, Bastila, _she thought, hoping against hope the girl could hear her._ There is emotion. Denial is useless. But there can be peace in spite of it.

_“You think torture will turn me, Malak? You are a fool.” Bastila’s voice left her mouth, confirming what she already knew._

_He stepped right up to her. “Torture? No, dear Bastila, you misunderstand. This is but a taste of the dark side to whet your appetite.” He stepped away again, turning his back. “When you finally swear loyalty to me, it will be willingly!” He turned sharply, his cape swishing around behind him, and Revan rolled her eyes._

He always was a drama queen. _She paused._ I’m coming, Bastila. Just hold on.

_She felt a jolt other than the electricity. Recognition._ Revan—? _But even as she tried to hold on, to reach out to Bastila further, she was pulled away…_

She sat bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat, staring around the room wildly. “Bastila!”

“Easy there,” said Mission’s voice. “Found you passed out on the floor. Got Big Z to put you in bed, and I’ve been keeping an eye on you. What happened?”

“I saw Bastila,” she said. “She… he’s torturing her. Trying to turn her. I knew he would, but seeing it…”

Mission squeezed her hand, looking concerned. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re on our way. All she has to do is hold out a little longer.”

Wren huffed a mockery of laughter. “Just hold out a little longer. Through what must be hours at a time of torture. It’ll take him days or weeks to break her but he’s already _had_ that. What if we’re too late? What if she falls because of me?”

There was an impatient huff of breath from the doorway. “If Bastila falls, it’ll be Malak’s fault, lass,” Jolee said, stepping inside and pulling up a chair.

“And whose fault is he?”

“His,” Jolee said flatly. “You’re not responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in the galaxy lately. Not even Revan has that kind of influence.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. Still…” She trailed off, looking past them. “She should have left me.”

Mission smacked her arm. “He’d have killed you and she knew it! At least this way we have a chance to rescue her!”

She looked back at Mission. “How long?”

“About four days,” she said. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

She nodded. “Then for now let’s focus on preparation. We can worry about Bastila when we can actually do something to help her.”

 _____________________

Revan had fought with two lightsabers, both during the war and when she was the dark lord. It came back to her more easily than she’d expected. (“Probably just like riding a hovercycle,” Mission said with a shrug).

Wren spent the remaining days of their journey in the cargo hold, training herself to fight with two lightsabers again. When she wasn’t doing that, she was with Jolee, working on her healing, or with Mission, taking a break with some Pazaak. T3 would watch them as they played and apparently was starting to play with Mission while Wren trained.

“Give ‘im a few years and he’ll knock the socks off anyone. Just you wait,” the girl said with a wink.

Wren put a hand to her face. “I’ve created a monster.”

Mission punched her arm lightly. “Hey, credit where it’s due.”

Wren chuckled. “Fine. _You’ve_ created a monster. I helped.”

She grinned. “Better. Want another round?”

“You’re on.”

____________________ 

She was standing behind Carth in the cockpit when they dropped out of hyperspace. The others were making final preparations—Canderous was manning the turret, just in case, Jolee was pulling together medical supplies, Mission and Zaalbar were just finishing up a couple of grenades they’d been making, and the droids were doing… whatever it was the droids did. (She suspected HK was shooting her training droids to pieces again. As long as it wasn’t any of the crew.)

The _Hawk_ decelerated. Wren gripped the back of Carth’s chair to steady herself.

There. Right in front of them as they dropped out of hyperspace. The Star Forge.

It wasn’t a specific memory, not a vision, but seeing it again… suddenly she remembered. She remembered seeing it for the first time, the awe that had filled her. She remembered trying to ignore the _hungry_ look in Malak’s eyes as he sensed its darkness for the first time.

“The Star Forge,” Carth breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

They stared in silence for several more moments, Carth apparently as overcome by awe as she was. Then he seemed to break the trance and started typing into his console.

“I’m transmitting these coordinates to Admiral Dodonna. Maybe a quick strike by the Republic can cripple the Sith fleet.”

She frowned. “Good idea in theory, but coming from the Core they won’t be here for at least three days. I can’t wait that long, Carth. I need to get to Bastila.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re not just going to sit around and wait. I’ll do everything I can to get you in there, but it’ll be tough. We might not make it out.”

“If I can get to Bastila, there’s a chance,” she said. “She’ll be able to help you all hold off Malak’s troops while I find him. We—”

The ship rocked. Carth checked his sensors. “Small vanguard of Sith fighters,” he called. “Canderous—”

“Already on it,” said the Mandalorian’s voice over the comm.

Carth began evasive maneuvers while Canderous fired the turret, taking out their pursuers quickly enough that they (hopefully) hadn’t had time to alert the main fleet to their presence.

But in that time, their problems had only compounded. Contrary to what she’d expected, the ship didn’t stop shaking when the fighters had stopped firing on them. Instead, it was worse than ever.

“Carth, what’s going on? Feels like the ship is coming apart!”

“We’ve flown into some kind of disruptor field! All my instruments are jammed.”

She cursed. “Anything you can do?”

He pursed his lips, face screwed up in concentration as he tried to salvage the situation. “I’m picking up a single planet in the system. I’ll try and put us down there. I’d strap yourself in, if I were you. This may be a rough landing.”

 ______________________

_Rough landing_ was an understatement. The only points this landing had over the landing of their escape pod on Taris was that she was still conscious and the ship was mostly in one piece. Aside from those, the jarring impact was every bit as awful as the crash that had started this whole mess.

“Everyone okay?” Wren called over the intercom.

Varying replies in the affirmative reached her, and she relaxed. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about patching anyone up in addition to all the problems they already had.

“On the bright side,” she said to Carth. “The three days it’ll take the Republic to get here are no longer a concern.”

“We won’t have to wait,” he agreed. “But now we have a time limit.”

She nodded. “Three days to get the ship up and running and disable the disruptor field. You think we can do it?”

“Not like we have much of a choice. If we fail, the whole fleet’s going to crash down here.”

She took a breath, centered herself, and reached out to the planet. “There are life-forms here,” she said. “I… can’t tell much more than that, but—” She flinched, drawing back into herself and curling up instinctively.

“What’s wrong?” Carth was at her side in moments.

She shook her head. “I’m okay, it’s just… there’s darkness here. A lot of it. It… it feels like the darkness coming from the Star Maps and the Star Forge.” She looked at him. “Something here is connected to them. And I bet that’s what’s causing that field.”

He nodded, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. “All right. Let’s find it, then. Before Malak finds us.”

They made their way to the main hold, where everyone else was already waiting.

“Talk about your rough landings, Carth!” Mission exclaimed the second he appeared. “You’re flying like you’ve been on an all-night Tarisian ale drinking binge.”

Carth gave her a look. “That disruptor field fried our stabilizers. We’re lucky we even made it down in one piece. And unless we can salvage parts to make repairs, I won’t even be able to get the _Ebon Hawk_ airborne again.”

“Not to mention we need to find the source of that field and shut it down,” Wren added. “If we don’t, even if we can make repairs, we’ll just crash again.”

“Already on it,” Mission said, holding up a finger with her eyes on T3. A moment later, the droid beeped. “T3’s picking up massive power fluctuations coming from some structure to the east. From the readings… looks like some kinda ancient temple.”

Wren flinched as a memory hit her—not Revan’s, but hers. _Bastila, chained to a stone slab, surrounded by ancient stone architecture and statues—not the Star Forge. Here._ “That’s it,” she said. “Bastila is in there. Or she was, a few days ago. We should investigate.” She looked to the group. “Mission, Z, stay here. I’m going to need you to help with the ship as soon as we’ve salvaged the parts to fix it. Surely other ships have crashed here thanks to that disruptor.”

Canderous nodded. “The planet’s a technological graveyard. I saw dozens of downed ships out there.”

“Good,” Wren said. “Canderous, take the droids and start looking for salvage. Carth, Jolee, you’re with me. I want to check out that temple. We meet back here in an hour.”

 _______________________

As they disembarked, however, they were interrupted almost immediately by a pair of Duros running for their lives. Unarmed, they were being followed by half a dozen… somethings.

Carth and Canderous immediately started firing on the natives, and the others joined the battle moments later. Wren’s response, however, was delayed. She recognized this species. There were indistinct flashes in her memory of Revan interacting with them—and she’d encountered one before, since becoming Wren. She’d played riddles with him.

This was a species that was so advanced they’d locked their criminals’ minds in boxes. What had happened to them?

She would have to worry about it later, it seemed. The Duros had stopped running, and several of the creatures had already been killed by her companions, but the still-living ones were trying to make a run at their prey. Wren gathered the Force to her and leaped into battle.

It didn’t take long for the six of them to defeat the raiding party. The Duros crept out from behind the rocks they’d been cowering near and bowed.

**“We are in your debt, humans,”** one said. **“You have killed the murderous animals! We thank you.”**

Wren blinked. “Uh… no problem. They didn’t look particularly friendly, so…”

**“If your arrival had not been so fortuitously timed, we would have been in great danger. We thank you again for saving us,”** the second Duros said.

“Right,” Wren said. “What can you tell me about the natives?”

**“Only that they attack everyone on sight. The only ones here who can withstand them are the Mandalorians, but we dare not go near them… we know of their depredations too well.”**

Canderous snorted quietly but said nothing.

“There are Mandalorians here too?” Wren asked.

**“Yes. More than you might think, although that may be because they are not killed as easily as we are. With their weapons they raid and kill other survivors, so that they may also fight the natives. They seem to have some sort of invisibility or light cloaking shield that hides them until they strike.”**

Wren sighed. “Note to self: more cloaked shitty Mandalorians. You up for some hunting, _vod_?”

Canderous hefted his rifle. “You even have to ask?”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit. Where are they?”

**“They are north of here near a large temple structure,”** the first Duros replied. **“We dare not approach it, for they would surely kill us.”**

She nodded. “Sounds like where we’re going anyway.”

**“Our ship crashed not far from here,”** the second one said. **“Your ship looks like it might be salvaged, if you can retrieve parts. Our wreckage may have what you need. It can be found to the southeast. But we cannot delay much longer. The longer we stay, the more likely the Mandalorians or the natives will find us and kill us.”**

“Do you think you could make it to one of the other islands?”

He nodded. **“I think that may be our best hope. We thank you again for your help, human.”** Each of them nodded respectfully to Wren, then they turned and ran down the beach and out of sight.

Wren turned to the group. “So… hostile natives, hostile Mandalorians… anyone feeling up for a field trip?”

 ____________________________

“Some field trip,” Carth muttered to her half an hour later as they sat on the stone ramp leading up to the temple. Wren was trying to repair some structural damage to T3 while Carth was trying to apply kolto to a massive bloody slash across her back.

“You’d think they’d have remembered to mention that there are rancors roaming the wilds,” she agreed. “I guess between the Mandalorians and the natives, they… forgot?”

“Not sure how you forget wild rancors,” Carth grumbled, injecting a medpac. She winced. “Sorry. Kolto should be working now, though. It wasn’t as deep as it looked, but I still think Jolee should take a look at it.”

Jolee, who had been healing Canderous of the wounds he’d suffered from the combination of half a dozen rancors and more of the natives, looked over at them. “Why don’t you give those healing techniques a try, lass? I can help, but if you’re going to be fighting Malak you need the practice.”

Wren gritted her teeth a little. “Let’s _not_ keep talking about the fact that I’m probably going to be fighting him again soon, shall we? I’ll give it a shot,” she added to Jolee. Finishing up her work on T3, she closed her eyes, folding her hands in her lap, and deepened her breathing. She reached out, as Jolee had taught her, feeling the Force in all her companions around her—but _beyond_ them, too. Extending through space and time and eternity and not bound nor contained by matter.

She could feel the energy of it. The power. It was the same power she drew on every day for her attacks—the stasis, the lightning, even a simple Force push—but somehow she’d never quite managed to make the jump to healing, as well. She’d seen it as drawing life energy from something—whether it was drawing from an enemy into herself or herself into an ally.

But it was more than that. The Force… the Force, in a sense, was life itself. It connected all living things, but wasn’t bounded by them. And she drew healing now from that life. The Jedi Code said _There is no death, there is the Force._ Was this what it meant?

When she returned to herself, everyone was silent, staring at her.

“What?” she asked Jolee.

He just chuckled, breaking whatever spell was over them. “You’re a quick study, lass. You barely needed my help. Using it in battle may be more difficult, but I think you’ve got the gist, anyway.”

She got to her feet. “I feel better, anyway. Canderous, you still feeling up to fighting some _Mando’ade_?”

_“Dar’manda_ more like,” he growled. “Ready when you are.”

She nodded. “Search the perimeter with the droids. Carth, go with them. I’ll check out the temple with Jolee and meet you.”

Carth frowned. “You’re going in there alone?” She gave him a look. “Just the two of you?” he corrected.

“Investigating, not entering,” she said. “I don’t think we can get in, unless that barrier serves another purpose than keeping people out.” She pointed. Over the entrance to the temple, barely visible, but shimmering slightly in the sunlight, was some type of energy shield, from the looks of it. “I want to find out if there’s a way past it, or at least a clue to its origin. This may take longer than I was hoping.”

Canderous hefted his blaster rifle and led the way around to the right side of the temple entrance as Wren led the way up the temple ramp.

The force field shimmered there, a faint, translucent gold. She pushed against it with the Force. Nothing. Against her better judgment, she reached out and touched it. Even that did nothing. It seemed more like a physical barrier than an energy field—no effect on her, but nothing she did would affect it either, so far as she could tell.

She had one last idea. Closing her eyes, she reached out in the Force.

_There._ The field had a Force signature. And it was blocking everything else inside.

She suspected the source of it, then, must be hidden inside. But Revan had found a way in before—she must have, if she managed to take the Star Forge. Wren would once again follow her footsteps.

She turned to Jolee. “You feel it?”

He hummed in agreement, nodding. “This temple is… powerful. Completely shielded by that field, and Force knows how long that’s been there. I can’t sense a way past it, though.”

Wren bit her lip. “Disinclined as they seemed to negotiation, maybe the natives know something.”

He nodded. “If we can find where they live, we may at least be able to find a clue.”

The sounds of battle reached their ears—a lot of grenades and blaster fire, from the sound of it. She sighed. “Sounds like Canderous found his _dar’manda._ ”

They were delayed from reaching them, however, by another pair of rancors wandering across their path—by the time they reached the scene of the battle, Carth and Canderous were taking down the _Mando_ leader.

“You missed a good fight, Grua,” Canderous said.

She sighs dramatically. “The sacrifices I make.”

“Did you find anything?” Carth asked.

She shook her head. “Other than the fact that that barrier has a Force signature and the Temple itself is very strong in Force energy, no. The best plan I can come up with is to see if we can ask the natives, or—more likely—take the information off their corpses, if they won’t negotiate. Shall we?”

“I’ll keep looking for stabilizers,” Canderous said. “Getting that disruptor field down won’t mean anything if we can’t take off to get to the Star Forge when the time comes.”

Wren nodded. “Good idea. Take the droids with you. If you find something, get back to the ship and get to work.”

“Understood. Keep in touch.” He headed off in the direction the Duros had indicated for their crashed ship.

 __________________

The answer to Wren’s problem presented itself as she, Jolee, and Carth made their way back in the direction of the _Hawk._ A group of natives was waiting for them where the paths diverged—one path led back to the beach, while the other led off to the north.

Wren reached for her lightsaber, but they didn’t seem inclined to attack. One approached her. **“Stay your weapons, interloper. We bring an invitation from the One, Great Champion of the Rakata.”**

Wren paused, hand still halfway to her weapon. “What kind of invitation?”

“You understood that?” Carth had a hand on his blaster, but he was looking between Wren and the Rakata in surprise.

She nodded slowly.

“You must have come here before, as Revan. Learned their language.”

She nodded again.

**“You have used strange magics and weapons to slaughter our raiding parties, interloper,”** the leading Rakata cut in again. **“You have bathed in the blood of fierce Rakatan warriors. Your power and skill in battle has impressed the One. He wishes an audience with you: a great honor. Come with us now and we will take you to him.”**

Maybe now she could finally get some answers. “All right. Lead the way.”

 __________________

The One had apparently met her before. **“Revan,”** he addressed her. **“Somehow I knew we would meet again. Even when you vanished, I knew you would not forget the vow you swore to me. And when my scouts told me of a great warrior from the sky slaughtering our raiding parties with strange weapons and magics, I knew you had at last returned!”**

“Wonderful,” she sighed to Jolee. “Now I get to deal with Revan’s old promises.”

“Maybe let him down gently,” Jolee muttered back. “Doesn’t seem like the forgiving type, what with the rancors and all.”

She nodded, turning her attention to the One. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember what you’re talking about. Revan’s memories were destroyed..”

He made a face—she had to assume he was frowning. **“Your words are confusing. I recognize you: you are the one called Revan. You are the one who came here before, with Malak, the one who served you. You promised to slay our enemy. In exchange for our aid, you swore to destroy the Elders and bring us their secrets. Are you saying this means nothing to you now?”**

Wren held out her hands in an appeasing sort of gesture. “I’m saying that I was in a great battle, in which my mind was destroyed. I lost all my memories of who I was before. I remember nothing of this planet, or of the vow I swore.”

His posture relaxed slightly, like she’d managed to get through his anger. **“I believe you, Revan. I sense that there is something different about you. Something that has changed. You are not the same as you were before. Yet the power of magic—what you called the Force—is within you still. You can still destroy the Elders and fulfill your vow!”**

She wasn’t really sold on fulfilling any vow that Revan had made, particularly one that seemed to involve partial genocide, but playing along was going to be safer than questioning him too much. If nothing else, she could talk to these Elders first, find out what they knew and why the One wanted them dead, and then make a decision. “What, exactly, was the vow I swore?” she asked. Best to clarify.

**“You vowed to kill the Elders,”** the One replied immediately, “ **and to bring us the secret knowledge they protect. In return, we promised to use the lost knowledge to help you enter the Temple of the Ancients.”**

“And if I fulfill my end of the vow. Will you still fulfill yours?”

He nodded. **“I swear that when the Elders are dead and their knowledge is ours, we shall help you to enter the Temple as we swore we would.”**

She nodded shortly. “Good then. I’ll look into it. First though—what do you know of the Temple?”

**“If what you say is true and you truly have no memory of our last meeting, you must have many questions. I will help you understand. And then you will destroy the Elders tribe and fulfill the oath you swore to us long ago.”**

He was awfully fixated on that oath, she thought. But she’d get information any way she could, and maybe then she could piece together the truth of what had happened. “Tell me what happened last time I was here.”

**“You arrived with your servant Malak three of your galactic standard years ago. My scouts saw your sky ship plummet to the ground and went to loot the crash site. They tried to take you prisoner, but you unleashed your magic—what you call the Force—on them. Seeing your power they bowed before you and brought you here before me. You used your power to rip the Rakata language from my mind, even as you drove your language into our skulls so we could help you in your quest to find something called the Star Forge.”**

Wren winced. That really didn’t sound pleasant.

**“But the answers you sought lay within the Temple of the Ancients, and we could not help you enter the Temple. The Elders alone hold its secrets, guarding them with their very lives.”**

So she had gone to the Elders, asking for their help instead, figuring that it would be better to seek aid from the group who already knew the secrets than the group who wanted to pillage them.

And it seemed like she was about to turn around and do the exact same thing. Revan was nothing if not clever, and in this case she’d been right—the Elders were likely to be a safer bet than the One.

“What do you know of the Temple itself?”

**“There is little I can tell you about the Temple. I know the secrets of our ancestors are contained within, but the Temple itself is barred to us. When last you were here, you and your servant sought to enter the Temple. You sought ancient knowledge and a way to escape this world within its stone walls. But only the Elders know how to bypass the barrier that surrounds it. Destroy them and bring back their secrets to us, and we will help you enter the Temple. That was our agreement.”**

Back to that again, it seemed. All right. They weren’t likely to have much more information—if she wanted answers, she was going to have to seek out these Elders.

“I will return when our agreement is complete,” she said with a small bow. Taking his answering nod as a dismissal, she turned and walked out of the settlement, with Carth and Jolee following in her wake.

 _______________________

She touched base with Canderous long enough to learn that he, the droids, and Mission were salvaging what they could from the nearby wrecks and to fill them in on the situation before seeking out the Elder settlement. In composition, it didn’t seem too different from the One’s place—a little smaller, maybe, and the defenses consisted of some kind of electricity fence rather than _rancors,_ and even from the outside it seemed a little more… sophisticated.

They were greeted by a hologram. Since she’d been here before as Revan, she introduced herself as such, and they were allowed entry.

The Elders were… less than thrilled to see her. Given what Revan had done to them, based on the information she was able to glean (after explaining the memory loss of course), she could hardly blame them. If someone had come to her claiming to want to destroy a powerful, dark weapon in her backyard and then turned on her and used it to conquer the galaxy, she wouldn’t be particularly inclined to trust them either.

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon as they left the compound, her steps heavy with the second oath she’d sworn that day. Either one would end in total destruction, one way or the other. Revan had chosen the safer path of siding with the ones who already had the knowledge—but the Elders had trusted Revan. She hadn’t needed to fight the One to prove herself redeemed.

If she had… maybe she would have taken a gamble and chosen differently. Fighting a small army of rancors could hardly be considered the easier path, after all.

But this wasn’t Revan. This was Wren. And when her assigned tasks were ‘rescue a scout’ or ‘slaughter all the Elders’... well. Even if both would end in slaughter, at least the former had some sort of benevolent purpose.

She sighed heavily, and Jolee gave her a quick glance before moving ahead as Carth took her hand. “You all right?”

She nodded. “We have two days,” she said. “I… wish it didn’t have to end in a massacre, but what can you do, right?”

He squeezed her hand. “We’re trying to rescue someone,” he pointed out. “If they try to fight us, that’s their problem.”

She sighed again. “That’s what I keep telling myself. I just…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes against a sudden headache. “I wish I could sense inside that temple, get a sense of what we’re up against. From the sound of it, only Jolee and I will be able to go in, but even so…”

His grip tightened unconsciously. “Wait, what? You never mentioned—”

She squeezed his hand back, trying to reassure him a little. “I’ll be okay, I promise. The Elder lorekeeper mentioned that only Force users can enter the Temple. Hence why they can’t go in themselves—none of them are Force sensitive anymore. Malak and I went in, and apparently let a not insignificant amount of Dark Jedi in after the fact—”

He stopped her, turning her to face him, still clasping her hand tightly. “I trust you,” he said. “I know you’re strong, and I—I don’t doubt your skills, I’d have to be an idiot to do that, but… I still worry.”

She brushed a hand across the scruff on his face, a small smile playing about her mouth. “I know. It’s sweet of you to worry, but this time there’s nothing you can do. I… wish I could feel if Bastila’s still in there, is all. I haven’t sensed anything from her since the last time I saw her, when Malak was torturing her in that temple, and I... “ She sighed. “If he succeeds… if she falls…”

“We’ll save her,” he said, with so much conviction that she was almost convinced it would be as easy as all that. “That’s what we do, right?”

She started walking again, tugging him after her, leaning her head on his shoulder. He released her hand to wrap an arm around her. “That’s why you’re here, flyboy,” she said, hiding her smile in his shoulder. “Remind me what the ideal is.”

He looked over at her out of the corner of his eye, half a smirk working its way across his face. “Is that all?”

She laughed. “Oh, you have other uses, I’m sure.” Her smile faded. “I mean it, though. You keep me honest. Times when it would be easier to cut corners.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Whatever you need, beautiful. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

“I know.” She never would have dreamed she’d find it here, but the soft warmth that spread through her, just with his presence, even more with his words… she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

 _______________________

“At dawn, we’ll move on the One,” Wren said. “Canderous, HK, Zaalbar, you’ll join us. T3, Mission, stay here and keep working on the repairs. I want to minimize the chances of us all dying fighting a dozen rancors, but getting off this planet is still the top priority. I need the ship fixed by the time I get the disruptor field down. Questions?”

“How can we be sure we can’t negotiate the prisoner’s release?” Carth asked.

She shook her head. “You saw the One. Though, I guess you don’t understand Rakatan,” she amended. “He was fixated on the Elders’ deaths. I’m sure he’s tried himself, countless times, but their defenses have warded him off. I was his one chance at wiping them out—both times—and I’m sure he knows by now I’ve negotiated with them. He won’t be happy about that.”

“So we just go in guns blazing because you’re pretty sure he’ll react badly?” Carth still didn’t look convinced.

She waved a hand. “Of course not. We’ll go in, the six of us, armed but without drawing our weapons. Hopefully they’ll at least give us a few seconds of explanation for why they’re about to start attacking us, which will give us time to defend ourselves. So in the unlikely event they do want to negotiate, we won’t look like we’re trying to attack right off the bat.”

He inclined his head, seemingly satisfied.

“Anyone else?” No one spoke. “Good. Everyone get some rest, we’ll meet outside the ship in the morning. Mission, how’s the hyperdrive?”

“Better than it was. Z’s almost finished installing those stabilizers, and T3 and I probably just need a few more hours to fix the damage to the hyperdrive itself.”

Wren smiled. “Good work, Mission. Get it done. We need to get back up there in time for the Republic’s arrival.” She surveyed the group. “Dismissed.”

It still amused her a little that she could do that, that they acted like her own personal little army. She still sometimes wondered why. Why they’d all chosen to follow her. Jolee, she knew. Canderous wasn’t hard to guess. Carth… well. Zaalbar had his life debt, the droids were obligated (and she knew at least HK would anyway). And she knew MIssion had initially joined because of Zaalbar, but now…

Her last thought before drifting off into sleep was that she had a family again.

 _______________________

_The Temple was cold. Not just temperature-wise, though it was that, too. The cold reached to her bones and started to squeeze, like it was trying to drain the life out of her._

_She needed to get out of here as soon as possible._

_She stepped out onto the summit, blinking as the light flooded her vision. When she could see again, still squinting into the sun, she saw the figure._

_She walked slowly toward it, drawn in, almost._

_Maybe she should have been surprised to see Bastila, but she wasn’t._ Of course, _she thought to herself, without really knowing why._

_“Revan,” Bastila said._

_Wren nodded._

_“I knew you’d come for me. Malak thought you might be afraid to enter the Temple again, but he doesn’t know you like I do. Not anymore. Not since you’ve changed.”_

_Wren stopped several paces from her, taking in her appearance. Pale skin, paler than usual, with a few dark veins beginning to show around her eyes. Dark robes. A lightsaber that she was certain would be red when Bastila activated it. “Bastila… what has he done to you?”_

_She huffed. “I have sworn allegiance to Malak and the Sith, of course. I am no longer a pawn of the Jedi Council!”_

_Wren’s face fell, but she nodded. She’d expected this, really._

_They spoke. They fought. They spoke again. And Wren agreed._

_The Jedi didn’t deserve her help. And Revan had used the Star Forge for a reason. She needed to reclaim her purpose._

_“What of the others?” she asked._

_“They will bow before you, or they will fall,” Bastila declared._

_Her purpose seemed to have dulled the effect of those words. She nodded._

_They met Jolee at the entrance to the Temple, trying to get in after her. She needed his help, he said, because—_

_Bastila struck him down without a second thought._

_He stood against her. It was nothing personal—she was doing what had to be done._

_The others were waiting on the beach._

_“Bastila,” Carth said immediately. “You’re alive. I was worried about you—for a minute there I thought we might not see you again after Malak got his—wait.” His eyes flickered from Bastila to Wren and back. “Jolee went after you. Where is he?”_

_“Jolee refused to accept the resurrection of Darth Revan,” Bastila replied smoothly. “He has paid for that mistake.”_

_Carth took a step back, staring between them in dawning horror. “Wh—what are you talking about?”_

_“The Jedi Council has failed, Carth,” Bastila continued. “Darth Revan has been reborn! Together we will defeat Malak and seize control of his fleet, then use it to crush the Republic!”_

_Crushing wasn’t exactly what Wren had in mind—not what Revan had had in mind either. But she would be in control. Bastila could think what she wanted._

_Carth’s expression went from confused to heartbroken in a matter of moments. “No. No, you can’t mean that, this isn’t you! You’re not Darth Revan, I know it!”_

_She just looked at him. “I’ve always been Revan, Carth. It was foolish of me to try to resist it.”_

_He was shaking his head, whether in denial or something else entirely she couldn’t know. “You’ve_ got _to resist it! Th-this isn’t you talking, we—we can help you, we can find a way—" He was desperate now, his eyes pleading with her, and even through the wall she’d built, she felt something. Why had she let herself love him?_

_Bastila just looked amused. “My, my. I think the sad fool may actually be in love with you, Revan.”_

_She already knew that. She just hadn’t expected… she’d thought she’d have to kill him. That he’d fight her, try to stop her. And it would hurt, but she’d prepared herself. But this… she’d never expected he’d try to save her. And if she didn’t end this soon, that might be enough to break her resolve._

_“You could join me, Carth. Rule at my side.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice. “Don’t make me fight you.”_

_His eyes were fixed on her face, and through them it was like she could see his soul shattering into a thousand shards. “No,” he said quietly. “No, you’re not the woman I love. I’ll find a way to save you. I swear it.”_

_Mission tried. Mission stood between her and her goals and she tried to stop her. She forced Zaalbar to kill her. She killed him when he turned on her._

_Carth, shattered, pleaded for her to stop. Begged her to let him reach her, to let him in._

_Bastila killed him. And she stood by and watched._

_“I love you,” he gasped with his dying breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”_

_And he died._

_She woke up screaming._

 _____________________

“Revan! Wren, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Breathe, beautiful. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Breathing hard, soaked in sweat, she came to consciousness, her eyes desperately searching until she found Carth’s face before she collapsed, shaking and sobbing, into his arms.

He just held her, rubbing her back soothingly, murmuring gentle words that she wasn’t quite aware enough to understand.

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “I’m here.”

Her breath hitched in another sob as she finally managed to reply. “Not me I’m worried about.”

He looked into her eyes, moving a hand to cup her face. “Want to talk about it?”

She nodded slowly, resting her head against his chest again, unable to look him in the eyes as she told him. “I fell. Bastila had fallen and she turned me, and I…” She blinked away renewed tears. “Jolee tried to stop me. She killed him. And the rest of you… I… I forced Zaalbar to kill Mission. Reached into his mind and twisted his life debt, and he killed his best friend. I killed him afterwards without a second thought. And you… you swore you’d save me. You tried to stop me, you said this wasn’t me, that you’d help me, and—” She pressed in closer, needing to feel him, the assurance that he was still here, still alive, and not leaving her side. “She killed you too. I couldn’t do it but I watched, I watched her kill you, and I barely felt anything, I can’t—I can’t—”

He held her to him tighter. “Hey… Wren. That’s not you.”

“But what if it is? What if that’s the future?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t let that happen. I told you before, I want you to have a reason to make the right choice. I want to give you that.”

“And you have.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “But what if I can’t? What if Revan’s too strong?”

He adjusted their positions so he could look her in the eye. “You are Revan. And your past doesn’t have to define you. What strength she had, you have. You don’t need to be afraid of her.”

She took a deep, shaking breath and leaned back into him. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. But she had rested enough. And here, at least, she felt safe.


	29. Once and for All

Wren had made the right call.

Upon their arrival back at the One’s settlement, what seemed like half the Rakatan warriors were waiting, backed by no less than four rancors and their handlers. Fortunately, they were all grouped together at the canyon exit, waiting to attack, and Canderous was already waiting with grenades.

There was little chance they would have survived, even with the Force, had all six of them not been there. As it was, though, between grenades, cover fire, and Wren and Jolee’s Force powers, the Rakata were felled easily and even the rancors were only a minor challenge.

That was the easy part, though. Now they had to proceed into the Rakatan home turf, fight their way through the settlement to the One, and find the location of the Elder scout before the One executed him just in case.

Fortune was again on their side. It seemed that the One’s defense strategy had consisted of frontloading everything—the force that had been waiting for them was the bulk of his fighting force. Some of the Rakata in the settlement surrendered (Wren allowed them to run for their lives), but most fought to the (very quick) death.

Until they reached the One himself. Flanked by four elite warriors, releasing his four rancors from their cages, he brandished his blade at her, snarling.

And apparently the Elder researcher had been correct about his Force sensitivity. Because he proved especially resistant to her powers.

The fight was brutal. Zaalbar got stuck engaging one of the rancors directly and took several slashes across his chest. The quarters were already too close for grenades, so they lost that particular advantage. And Wren spent the whole time dueling the One, with barely enough time to give them a brief advantage with a stasis field, though that didn’t last long.

By the time she managed to deal the killing blow, Jolee and Zaalbar had withdrawn (Jolee was doing his best to heal Zaalbar’s injuries, which were apparently quite severe), Carth was bringing down one of the two remaining rancors with a grim set to his jaw, and Canderous and HK were double-teaming the other one (and having far too much fun doing it, she suspected).

“Spread out,” she ordered at once. “Find that scout. If you encounter any more resistance, _call for backup._ Please. I’d rather not lose anyone because we were being careless.”

Finding the scout didn’t take long, though. Maybe a minute after she’d given the order, she heard a shout from Carth and came running, only to find him standing inside one of the rancor cages, staring at the grisly spectacle before them.

There was another cage within the cage, shoved back into one corner, and within it were four Rakata. Only one of them was alive. The rest were impaled on spikes and left there to rot. Even the living one looked on the verge of death, not to mention the glances he kept shooting his dead compatriots.

Wren drew her lightsaber, cutting off the cage lock with ease, and reached out in the Force, finding his presence and trying to calm him, offering what healing she could with her strength diminished after the battle.

**“Thank you,** ” he managed to gasp. **“I—I believe I can return to my people on my own.”**

“Not a chance,” Wren said immediately. “Jolee, get Zaalbar back to the ship. Canderous, HK, go with him. Make sure you get the ship fixed. Carth and I will take him to the Elders and I’ll see about getting inside that temple.”

No one protested, for once. She appreciated that.

 ___________________________

When the scout had been safely seen to the healers, the Elder Council convened again to meet with her.

**“We thank you for what you have done, Revan,”** one said. **“You have saved our scout at great personal risk, and shown that you have truly changed since the last time you were here.”**

She decided not to mention the fact that even if she had been evil, she could have taken out the One and returned the scout just to gain their trust. She didn’t exactly need to start raising suspicions now, after all.

**“But we have learned from our mistakes of the past,”** a second Councillor added. **“Last time you were here, we allowed you to enter the Temple with your apprentice, though tradition dictates one must enter alone. This time we will not make the same mistake.”**

Wren shot half a glance at Carth. He wouldn’t like this. Turning back to the Council, she chose her words carefully. “Is there no other way?”

**“No,”** said the third. **“If you wish to enter the Temple, you will do so alone, as our traditions dictate. You and your apprentice brought evil within its walls and used the Star Forge for your own gain. We will not repeat our past mistakes.”**

“I understand,” she said. “How will you lower the shield? When may we begin?”

**“The shield can be lowered in a ritual kept by our loremaster,”** the first Elder said. **“It will take many hours, but when it is completed, you will need to enter the Temple quickly.”**

“I understand,” she said again.

**“Our ritualists will await you outside the Temple. Approach them when you are ready to begin.”**

_________________________ 

“I’ll send word when the ritual is nearing completion,” she insisted—lied. “It’s going to take hours, Carth, there’s no point having more than one person supervising. It’ll be fine,” she added, as he opened his mouth to protest.

He frowned. “All right. Just be careful, all right? I don’t like this.”

She touched his arm briefly. “I know. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“You’d better be,” he said, leaning in to kiss her quickly before he finally turned to leave. “I’ll send Jolee when you call. Good luck, Wren. Revan. I… come back alive.”

He walked away, and Wren approached the Elder ritualist who appeared to be guiding the whole thing. “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s begin.”

The Elders knelt, five of them, around the small fire they’d built, and began to chant.

Wren sat.

And sat.

And sat.

She’d eaten her rations for both afternoon and evening and was watching day fade into dusk before something finally happened. Each of the ritualists began to be surrounded by a silver glow, emanating from within them. Tendrils began to reach out from each one, reaching towards a connection, both between them and at a single point in the center, directly above their fire—which, she noticed, had also begun to burn the same silvery color.

Then everything froze, and the guide got to his feet, with what Wren thought might be an annoyed frown on his face.

**“Someone is coming.”**

She had to wonder if the ritual offered some kind of connection to the Force that they were usually lacking, because moments after he spoke, Jolee came rushing around the corner at a dead sprint, only stopping when he was right beside Wren and the ritual circle.

“Wait!” he said. “You can’t go in there alone!”

Wren blinked, taken aback. “How did you—”

“I had a premonition,” he explained hastily. “A vision from the Force. It wasn’t _clear,_ per se, but I got the gist. You go in there alone, and you fall. I can’t let that happen, lass.”

The briefest memory of the look on Carth’s dying face in her nightmare was all it took to convince her. She turned  back to the guide. “I’m not going in alone after all. Lower the shield.”

**“No!”** he cried, fists clenching at his sides. **“You must go alone! We cannot allow you to violate our traditions as you did before!”**

“Please,” she said, not bothering to hide her fear. She couldn’t let that vision come true. She couldn’t. “I—the last time I was here, I was dark already, yes? I lied to the Elders to get access to the Star Forge so I could use it for my own purposes, and my apprentice who followed me was just as dark. If I enter alone, I may become that person again. And this time, my companion is one of the few people alive who I think could keep me from that darkness. Please.”

The guide seemed to consider for a moment, then his hands relaxed at his sides. **“Very well, Revan. The Council has said that you wish to destroy the Star Forge. If your companion will help you to keep that path, I will not stand in your way.”**

She released a long breath. “Thank you. Resume the ritual.”

The silver glow continued to spread, coalescing into the center of their circle as silvery fumes rose from the fire to meet the glow from each of the Elder ritualists. At last, when darkness had fully taken the sky and the last traces of the sunset were vanishing, the glow in the center seemed to harden into something solid, silver and shining, and a beam shot out from it, striking the energy shield directly over the door.

**“Go, Revan!”** the guide called.

They didn’t need telling twice. Wren and Jolee proceeded to the entrance at a run, stepping inside moments before the silver dissipated and the shield re-formed.

“Only one way out now,” Wren said quietly. Even so, her voice echoed in the empty space. “Forward.”

 _________________

By the time she figured out that they’d need to explore the catacombs in order to proceed further, she was certain beyond any doubt that she’d be dead if Jolee wasn’t there. The Elders hadn’t been wrong about Malak corrupting the Temple—indeed, it seemed like he’d co-opted it as some kind of training ground for Sith apprentices. They must have fought at least a dozen already, not to mention the droids that were guarding the place, and the turrets that lined one hallway.

That hallway was a dead end, and completely deserted, but she came upon something that made her heart stop dead in her chest.

A stone room. A stone slab. What was left of the chains that had bound Bastila.

A soft noise escaped her as she felt the echoes of her friend’s pain.

Jolee came up behind her. “What is it?”

“Bastila was here,” she said, her tone hushed, though she couldn’t quite say why.

He just nodded. “We’ll find her, lass,” he said.

He let silence fall after that, and she was grateful.

The only place they hadn’t yet explored, other than the way to the summit, which was sealed, was the catacombs. And so, bracing herself for another fight, she unlocked the lower levels and they proceeded below the temple.

It certainly wasn’t the _worst_ catacomb she’d been in (several of the tombs on Korriban came immediately to mind), but it wasn’t exactly in excellent shape, either. Apparently Malak had better things to do than maintain millennia-old catacombs. Who knew?

What he _had_ done was make absolutely sure the lower level was riddled with traps. Some, she managed to notice in time to disarm them before they blew themselves up or something. (She hoped that Malak had thought this through enough that triggering the traps wouldn’t bring the rest of the temple down on their heads, but from what she’d seen and what she remembered, he didn’t seem the type to think things through that far ahead. That was Revan’s job. Her job.)

Still, they made it through the traps and puzzles with only a few injuries, which she and Jolee healed quickly enough, and found themselves face to face with an ancient computer terminal.

**“Revan,** ” it said in the Rakata language. **“It has been some time.”**

She shifted. She hated running into people (or computers) that she couldn’t remember. It left her with no idea of what kind of impression Revan might have made on them.

It turned out, though, that in this case, it had been a favorable one, if only because Revan had been the first person to talk to the poor thing in thousands of years. And finally, she had access to everything she’d been wondering for months: what the Star Forge really was, its connection to the Temple, how Malak had been using the Temple in her absence. It even had limited data on Bastila’s tenure in the Temple. (She’d been tortured extensively, as Wren had suspected. After days of barely letting up, Malak had removed her, presumably to the Star Forge, and the terminal’s data ended there.)

“How can I disable the dirsuptor field around the planet?” she asked at last.

**“The terminal which controls the disruptor field is located on the Temple summit. You would have been allowed access from the beginning, but the alterations in your fundamental design confused the recognition program. I have updated my parameters so that you may be allowed access in the future.”**

“Thank you.”

“ **You may also lower the energy shield surrounding the temple from that location,”** the computer continued.

“Much appreciated,” she said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

**“A ship has just landed on the summit,”** it said. **“None but your apprentice have sent anyone into the temple in many years. Be wary.”**

“Thank you,” she said again.

**“Good luck, Revan,”** it said.

 __________________

The temple felt more like a tomb as they made their way back through it. The bodies of the dark Jedi they’d killed, along with the broken husks of the defense droids, littered the corridor. Deafening silence had fallen over the place, like the entire complex was holding its breath, waiting for… something.

She knew. She’d seen it already, even if she hadn’t felt Bastila’s presence waiting at the summit.

She’d come for Wren. No. She’d come for Revan.

Well. Wren was ready. And she wasn’t going down without a fight, literal or verbal or even mental. Wren Grua didn’t give up, any more than Revan would have.

Bastila waited, framed in the archway, the lightening sky a contrast for her dark robes, her face paler than Wren had ever seen it, except once.

The tell-tale signs of darkness had yet to make themselves visible, other than a slight lightening of her brown eyes, but Wren knew, beyond any doubt, that this was what she had seen.

Expecting it was one thing. _Knowing…_ knowing she’d failed, that she’d let her friend be taken in her place…

“Revan. I knew you’d come for me.” Bastila’s hand was on her hip, close to her lightsaber, her eyes flashing warily between Wren and Jolee. She hadn’t expected him. “Malak thought you might be afraid to enter the temple again, but he doesn’t know you like I do. Not anymore. Not since you’ve changed.”

Maybe it was false hope that caused Jolee to speak, or maybe he really couldn’t see what Bastila had become. “Quickly, Bastila, come on! We have to escape before Malak shows up!”

Bastila scoffed. “Escape? You don’t understand. I have sworn allegiance to Lord Malak and the Sith. I am no longer a pawn of the Jedi Council!”

The ache of failure within Wren felt like it was multiplying, compounding with a dozen other emotions she could barely begin to name. Fear—for Bastila, mainly, but also for herself. What if she couldn’t resist her? What if she gave in? And also—disappointment. Bastila had fallen directly into Malak’s waiting arms, trapped by the definition of the world she’d long held so dear, the ideals she’d been raised to hold. You were light, or you were dark. You were Jedi, or you were Sith. And here she was, on the summit of this temple, faced with two Force sensitive beings who were neither, and she still couldn’t see.

“And Malak told you the dark side would free you, is that it?” She felt… almost exasperation. Malak was so predictable, but on the other hand… it had worked for him. Bastila had fallen to his lies.

“You speak of the dark side as though it is something to be feared,” Bastila said, narrowing her eyes. “The Jedi Council has brainwashed you just like all the others. Like they once did with me. They teach that the dark side is your enemy. But in reality their only goal is to manipulate those strong in the Force. The fear of the dark side is a tool to maintain control. Why do you think the Jedi forbid you from joining the Mandalorian Wars? They knew you would realize your true potential and break free of their dominion.”

Wren nodded. “Bastila, I agree with you. All the time you’ve known me you should know that by now. But Malak isn’t any better.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Revan. Malak has shown me the truth. He’s shown me that the Jedi Council were using me the same way they once tried to use you. They’ve been holding me back because they knew one day I would surpass them all. And now that I’ve joined him, I have. I have embraced my full potential. The dark side has granted me freedom!”

Wren crossed her arms. “Has it? And who do you serve now, Bastila?”

Bastila eyed her suspiciously, her gaze flickering from one of Wren’s eyes to the other, as though trying to sense an ulterior motive. “I serve Lord Malak and the Sith,” she said at last, distrust and suspicion etched into every syllable.

“Explain to me how that is any more freedom than serving the Jedi was.”

Bastila floundered, and Wren felt a small surge of victory. Light side rhetoric was never going to work on her anyway, not if Malak had gotten her to believe this—even if Wren had believed it enough to try and use it. But maybe if she could make her see that she’d just swapped to the opposite end of the spectrum, maintaining her state of devoted servitude, maybe…

“The Jedi Council used me,” Bastila snapped. “They wanted me to bow and call them Master and obey their every order, denying my emotions and my freedom, all the while exploiting my battle meditation for their own use. I—”

“And how is Malak any different? What did he say to you, Bastila? What did he do that finally broke the last thread of your sane logic?”

Bastila sneered at the insult. “I resisted at first,” she said. “I endured the torment he inflicted on me with the passionless serenity of a true Jedi. But after a week of endless tortures, after I felt you abandon me, I finally saw the truth.”

Wren actually took a step back. “You—I— _What?”_

“I felt your presence in the back of my mind at first. Trying to lend me your strength, the strength of the _light side."_ She had a mocking lilt to her voice. “But your presence vanished before long, and I was left to face the pain alone. You abandoned me, Revan, just as the Jedi did to you and Malak, just as they did to the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars. But at last, I finally saw the truth. Malak forced me to acknowledge my anger and pain. He showed me the liberating power of these emotions. Then he made me see how the Jedi Council has denied me what is mine by right. They gladly used my battle meditation in their wars, but they still treated me like a child—like an inferior. They were _jealous_ of my power—of what I could become!”

Wren sighed, long and deep and sad. “You’ve been lied to, Bastila. From both sides. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop him. I’m sorry I didn’t remember enough to tell you the full truth.”

Bastila sneered. “Lies? You are the one who is living a lie, Revan. Your apologies merely prove your weakness. You are not fit to be ruler of the Sith. The Jedi programmed you to be their slave, and you submitted to their control. A pity the power you once had is so diluted in you. You could have been as strong as I am now. Stronger, even. But that will never happen now. With the power of the Star Forge, Malak will destroy the Republic and conquer the galaxy, and I will be the apprentice at his side—after I prove my worth by killing _you._ "

_Malak you son of a bitch,_ she snarled mentally, drawing her lightsabers. It seemed she wasn’t the only one capable of scheming after all. He’d thought this through, and she had no doubt that every bit of it was deliberate—letting Bastila feel their bond, letting her think Wren was giving her strength, only to cut her off, making Bastila believe she’d been abandoned.

If she hadn’t been so angry about that, she might have been amused that Bastila thought she actually stood a chance. She flourished her lightsabers, facing off against the former Jedi—her _friend,_ if she was being honest—and the fight commenced.

Even without Jolee there, keeping his defenses up but using the Force only to help Wren (he saw that this was her fight, and for that she was grateful), she still could have defeated Bastila. As it was, it didn’t take long before the newly-minted Sith was stepping back, raising her hands in surrender. Wren lowered her lightsabers, but not her guard.

“You are stronger than I would have thought possible, after what the Jedi did to you,” Bastila said. “It seems Malak was wrong. The power of the dark side is not lost to you after all, Revan.”

She shrugged. “No,” she agreed. It never had been. She’d never bothered to pay much attention to light or dark anyway—the Force was the Force. All that mattered to her was _why_ she was using it.

“I thought you were weak,” Bastila said, “but I see now I was wrong. I of all people should have known that, I suppose. I, who have seen the shadows inside your mind.”

She shook her head. “That’s not who I am, Bastila.”

Bastila gave a longsuffering sigh. “These are not your true feelings, Revan. You’re speaking as a pawn of the Jedi Council, as I once did. But now I see how the Jedi used us both! The Council tried to exploit the bond between us. They hoped I would draw out your memories to lead them to the Star Forge. We were slaves to their will, like all who follow the Jedi Code! But in our shared visions of the Star Maps, I also felt the so-called _taint_ within you. I resisted it at first. But now I embrace the power of the dark side— _your_ dark side!”

_No._ She was surprised to find that she was actually a little _angry._ How _dare_ she blame Revan for her fall? How dare she try to pin her mistakes on a past that Wren had no control over, on… on some part of her _essence,_ like Revan had been whispering in her ear, just _daring_ her to fall.

“Claim your own darkness, Bastila,” Revan snapped. “Why try to pin it on me?”

Bastila chuckled. “You misunderstand me, Revan. I’m not casting blame, I’m giving credit. Don’t you see? _You_ deserve to be the true master of the Sith, not Malak. I see this now! Join me, and we can defeat your old apprentice and restore your lost empire! Reclaim your lost identity!”

She shook her head. “We both know that can’t happen, Bastila. I don’t even _remember_ those days.”

Bastila shook her head impatiently. “Yes, your memory was too badly damaged to ever be fully recovered,  but your strength, your power, your strength of will, the essence of who and what you are—these things still remain! Once, long ago, you defied the Jedi Council, freeing yourself from their control. You claimed your rightful title as Dark Lord of the Sith. Together we can defeat Malak and take back what is yours!”

Wren could honestly say she’d never felt anything like the _pull_ of the dark side the Jedi Council had described. She knew nothing of its seductive power that she’d always been warned of. She couldn’t say why. Revan, she was learning, had never really cared much for the binary either. She had simply existed in the Force, wherever she needed to be to accomplish what needed to be done.

But now, she _felt..._ something different. Something new. It was like a new side of the Force was _reaching_ for her, _calling_ her, and it was the same power she channeled when she unleashed her lightning, the same power that had fueled her protective rage when she killed Juhani, and it was—it was _strength._ Could she defeat Malak without this kind of strength?

_She stood on the bridge of a ship—a small freighter, looking out at the Star Forge. Finally,_ **_finally,_ ** _she would unlock its secrets._

_“There it is, Revan,” Malak said._

_“There it is,” she agreed. “It’s ours for the taking. And this is what will save the galaxy when the true threat arrives._ "

Revan returned to herself with a gasp, and she knew one thing—there was a greater threat out there. Greater than the Mandalorians, greater than her, greater than Malak. And Revan had seen that the Star Forge might be the only chance to defeat it, whatever it was.

Could she afford to destroy it now? Not knowing what that threat was, not knowing if the galaxy could stand up without the power and endless resources the Forge promised?

Another wave of that power hit her, and she _felt…_ she couldn’t. Whatever this threat was, Revan had feared it. And if Revan had feared it, it was easily powerful enough to doom the galaxy.

Let Bastila think she was doing this for personal gain. Let her think she wanted to be the Dark Lord of the Sith. Let her think she’d fallen to the dark side.

Wren knew the truth. _Revan_ knew the truth. Malak had to fall, so Revan could get her plan back on track. The Star Forge would be the salvation of the galaxy, whether they wanted to accept it or not. They would thank her, one day.

“What are you proposing?” she asked.

“Come with me,” Bastila said. “We’ll need to return to the _Ebon Hawk—_ my shuttle can only seat one—but we need to board the Star Forge and defeat your apprentice. Then we can reclaim the Sith in the name of Darth Revan!”

“Wren.” Jolee spoke for the first time since their encounter had begun. Half in a daze, Revan turned to face him. “Think about what you’re doing. I can’t hope to know what’s going on in that head of yours, but stop scheming and _think_ for a second.”

She met his eyes, tipping her head to one side, taking two slow, deep breaths as she tried to clear her head and do as he asked. It couldn’t hurt, after all. She knew what had to be done now.

Another wave of power hit her, and she knew this was where her strength lay. It was like the strength she’d drawn in Tulak Hord’s tomb on Korriban, she reasoned. It was _emotion_ that had given her that strength, she’d been strong because she wanted to protect—

Carth.

Revan faltered. _I want you to make the right choice. I want to give you a reason to. I’ll find a way to save you from yourself._

Wren took another breath. _I love you. You gave me a future. I want to return the favor._

She turned back to Bastila. “No,” she said.

Bastila reeled for a moment, and Wren knew she’d felt just how close she’d been to succeeding. But she recovered quickly, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms in not-at-all-veiled contempt. “You are a pathetic _fool,_ Revan,” she snapped. “Together we could have defeated your apprentice and ruled over an empire. But now I will be at Lord Malak’s side instead. You will be crushed with the Republic and all the fools who bow down to the Jedi Council. No one can stand against the power of the Star Forge and the Sith fleet. Not even you.” She’d been backing up slowly as she spoke, and as she uttered the last words, she turned her back on them entirely, fleeing to her shuttle.

Wren staggered a little, suddenly aware of the crushing weight that had been upon her until moments before—the dark side that Bastila had been offering.

Jolee stepped up to her side, steadying her. “You all right there, lass?”

She nodded. “Thank you. If… if you hadn’t been here, I…”

“I know. Don’t doubt yourself because of it, Wren. That was a cheap trick she pulled.”

She laughed weakly. “Trust you to sum it up and make it sound so simple.” She stood tall, releasing her hold on Jolee. The sun had risen fully now, and beams of light danced across the summit of the temple. “Let’s disable that field and get the hell out of here.”

Somehow, the Temple didn’t feel quite as dark as they descended back through it.

 _______________

She saw Carth from the overlook above the beach where they’d crashed.

Everyone had gathered outside the ship: Mission and Zaalbar had clustered near the loading ramp with Canderous, T3 and HK seemed to be double-checking the stabilizers. Carth stood alone, alternating between pacing and fidgeting with his blaster, glancing toward the path every so often as though he was half-debating going after her despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to enter the temple.

It was heartwarming. But she barely gave herself time to think about it—the sight of him was enough to have her walking back down the path as fast as she could. After what had just happened…

One of his random glances managed to catch sight of her as she rounded the corner. Relief spread across his face more rapidly than the _Hawk_ had crashed, and he started towards her, calling out to her the moment she was in earshot.

“Wren! You’re back, you’re—you’re all right! We were afraid Jolee might not make it in time…” He reached her at a run, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “Don’t ever do that to me again, I thought you were going to go in there _alone,_ Wren.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “I just about lost my mind worrying, beautiful, are you all right?”

She nodded, pulling back to look at him, hands still grasping his upper arms. “I’m all right, but…”

His brow immediately furrowed, concern radiating off him. “What happened?”

Wren swallowed. “Bastila was there, Carth, she… she’s fallen. Malak turned her.”

Shock, horror, and sadness appeared in rapid succession across his face as the others gathered around. “The dark side? Bastila? No, _no,_ how could that happen?”

Jolee gave him a sympathetic look. “She was always in danger of being seduced by the dark side, Carth. Bastila was strong, but she was always impatient and headstrong. Malak preyed upon her weaknesses.”

Carth looked between the two of them. “But… but there’s still hope for her right? I mean, Revan rejected the dark side so Bastila could too, right? We still might be able to save her!”

Wren nodded, squeezing his arm. “We can try. And we will.”

Jolee patted Wren’s arm. “I must say that it’s good to have you with us, my dear. For a minute there I thought you might decide… well, never mind what I thought.”

Wren huffed a laugh, trying to hide the way her breath shook just slightly at the reminder. “For a minute there, so did I.”

Carth looked between them again. “Decide? Decide what?”

“Bastila tried to turn her to the dark side,” Jolee said, watching Carth closely. “Tempt her to reclaim Revan’s heritage. She failed.”

Carth’s gaze shifted slowly from Jolee to Wren, a look of dawning comprehension and utter joy on his face. “So… you did it? You turned against Revan once and for all. I _knew_ she isn’t who you are anymore. I knew it.”

She frowned. “What do you mean ‘once and for all’?”

His grip on her arm tightened. “I told you that you would have to make a choice, that you would be tested. I think that was it, I—I can feel it. And you did exactly what I’d hoped you would. It couldn’t have been easy, I—I’m very proud of you.”

Looking into his face, reaching out in the Force, she felt it. His pride, his _happiness._ He was happier than he’d been since she’d known him. And she’d done that. A wave of emotion so powerful it was nearly overwhelming hit her, and she couldn’t do anything but lean into him, wrapping her arms around him. “I… I almost gave in,” she confessed quietly. “I had another memory… I… Revan was… it’s too complicated to explain right now, but Revan had a purpose other than conquering the Republic, and she needed the Star Forge to protect the galaxy. Or she thought she did. And I… almost agreed with her, but I… I couldn’t turn on you. I remembered… I…” She couldn’t find the words to explain that loving him was what had saved her from the dark side.

But somehow he knew. He knew her better than she knew herself, she thought, what with the mess that was Revan in her head. “I love you,” he said simply. “And I can’t wait till all of this is over with.”

She looked into his face, and they didn’t need grand declarations, or proof, or any of that. Them being here, together, was proof enough. “I love you too.”

He kissed her then, long and deep and slow, and it said everything they couldn’t. There was so much they couldn’t put into words, but what she _felt,_ above anything else, was this: they had saved each other. And in that moment they swore to continue doing so until the day they both died.

“Hey, sheesh, get a room, will ya?” Mission broke into the moment, and Wren, pulling away from Carth, had to laugh. Some of the others chimed in, but she barely noticed. She only had eyes for Carth right then. And her heart was filled with the promise of things to come, once Malak was defeated.

But they had to defeat him first. Before anything else could happen, Revan needed to face her best friend.


	30. The Spectrum

Vandar had survived. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. He’d been on the Council who doomed her to live a lie for their own gain, after all. He’d destroyed her and tried to use her.

But for the moment, that wasn’t the biggest threat. When Malak was defeated, when _she_ regained her title as the Jedi’s biggest problem, then she could deal with that.

Until then, they had a Star Forge to invade.

“Typical, isn’t it?” She rolled her eyes, swinging her lightsabers at the nearest enemy. “I survive the destruction of Taris, I survive the Shadowlands and a terentatek before even becoming a Jedi (again, I suppose), I make it through the Jedi trials, I manage not to get fried to a crisp on Tatooine and I crush Calo Nord, I infiltrate Korriban and eliminate the Sith Academy’s leadership, not to mention converting a third of the student body and subduing the rest, I survive capture and torture and fighting Malak himself, I survive invading the Manaan Sith base and going to that overrun underwater facility _by myself,_ even a crazy paradise world full of domesticated rancors couldn’t stop me…” She turned to Carth, blowing her bangs out of her face. “And he sends _droids. Droids,_ Carth. Who does he take me for?”

“Probably about the same as Bastila did,” Jolee pointed out. “A shell of your former self.”

She huffed. “They’re idiots, then. I haven’t changed. Just my priorities.”

They proceeded through the Forge, fighting off first the droids and then the troops Malak sent after them. Mission, T3, and Zaalbar were with the _Hawk,_ guarding it, just in case any of the Sith should get any ideas about trying to steal it. Canderous and HK had elected to stay a little bit farther ahead, where troops had begun pouring in from a triple fork. Wren took the fork that Revan remembered and left them to it.

The troops kept coming, endless waves of them, and if not for Jolee’s healing (she was still a little bit shaky on combat healing, preferring to do it when she had the attention to spare) they probably all would have been killed, As it was there were several close calls. She had more than one moment of panic in which she saw Carth fall, hit by a particularly vicious attack, but they got lucky, and Jolee was able to keep him from death.

Despite having Revan’s memories of the place, it was like trying to remember a dream. So it was inevitable that she’d take a wrong turn eventually. But even that ended up being in their favor—apparently Revan had had more than one set of that armor. (Only one mask, it seemed, but that made sense). And the room they stumbled into was where she had kept it.

She stood in the center of the room, facing what amounted to her past in an outfit, for what was probably far too long. The troopers, droids, and dark Jedi still pouring out of the heart of the Star Fore bypassed them completely. (At least Canderous and HK would have fun, she thought. And if any got past them, Mission, Zaalbar, and T3 had a few Jedi with them as backup.)

Carth, as always, was right there with her. He took her hand. Squeezed. “What do you want to do?”

She took a deep breath. “Revan wore the armor during the Mandalorian Wars, too,” she said. “When she was a hero. It’s time to reclaim that meaning.”

He squeezed her hand again and nodded.

So at last, Revan, Jolee, and Carth opened the way to the command center. Barely three seconds had passed before Carth and Jolee  were frozen in stasis, cut off from her the moment she stepped through the door.

Bastila lowered her hand as the door slammed shut, looking smug. “Revan. I knew you’d come for me.”

Revan just faced her calmly. “Do you have a script?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

She chuckled a little, unable to help herself. “It’s just that, every time we’ve met since you fell, you’ve said that. Did you write yourself a script? Is that what you do in your spare time? But let me guess, you needed to use your battle meditation against the Republic so you didn’t have time to write a whole new one. Right?”

Bastila just glared. “Your words are meaningless. Why have you come? Are you going to renew your pathetic attempts to return me to the _light side_?”

Revan inclined her head. “I’m not giving up on you, Bastila. I’m not asking you to return to the Jedi. Just… help me stop Malak. He’s a menace. The Star Forge corrupted him, made him lose sight of our goal.” Bastila took a heated breath, but Revan plowed on. “You’re right about the Jedi. You’re _right._ But that doesn’t make Malak any better. Listen to me. Please.”

Bastila sneered. “You’re wasting your time. I have seen the Jedi—and you—for what you are: weak and afraid. The Sith are the true masters of the Force. You’ve forgotten that lesson, Revan. Now you must pay the price. Here on the Star Forge the power of the dark side is at its strongest. This time you will not defeat me!”

She brandished her lightsaber, and Revan drew her own. She was ready. She knew what she was fighting for. Bastila could not be allowed to succeed.

With Revan holding back enough to keep from killing her, they were quite close to evenly matched. But she had _just_ the edge she needed to fight off her friend.

But Bastila broke away from combat before Revan could disarm her, leaping backwards and dodging Revan’s swing. “I see now why Malak followed you. Even though you are only a shell of your former self, you are still a formidable opponent. I cannot even imagine the power you must have wielded when you were the Dark Lord. You were a fool to give it all up and follow the light side.”

Revan deactivated her lightsabers, making sure to stay out of Bastila’s reach. “You’ve been consumed, just like he was. Can’t you see the darkness alone will destroy you?”

She scoffed. “The dark side has made me stronger than I ever was before. I have a greater command of the Force than all but the most powerful Jedi Masters. As Malak teaches me the greatest secrets of the Sith I will unlock more of my potential. Eventually there’ll be no limit to what I can accomplish with the Force!”

She shook her head. “You don’t see, do you? The SIth Code doesn’t say ‘the dark side shall free me.’ It says ‘the _Force_ shall free me.’ Freedom from the Jedi may have allowed you access to more of your power and potential, I’ll grant you—but it’s not the dark side that has strengthened you, it’s a more complete knowledge of the Force. But Bastila, no one can unlock their full potential without embracing both sides. And you’ll never get that far anyway. Even if, theoretically, Malak did teach you everything he knew (but it’s not the way of the Sith to do that, all knowledge and power must be hoarded for yourself, like a bunch of _idiots,_ but we can get into that more once you actually start listening to me), eventually you’d fight. Either he’d kill you, or you’d kill him, become more powerful, and eventually train an apprentice who will kill you. You’re dooming yourself to an endless cycle of death and betrayal!”

Bastila tensed, a cat preparing to strike, and Revan drew her lightsabers in a flash. “No, Revan. It is you who are doomed!”

This fight went even more quickly than the last one. Revan was holding back less, trusting Bastila to hold her own and hoping that if she did manage to inflict a serious wound, she’d be able to heal it.

But just as she felt on the cusp of victory, Bastila leaped beyond her reach again. “You are growing weary, I can sense it,” she taunted. “Your strength falters. The light side is failing you while the power of the Star Forge re-energizes me. Soon this will all be over!”

Revan just shook her head. “You’re wrong about that, my friend. I’m as strong now as I ever was. The dark side is warping your vision. You can’t rely on it, Bastila. Let go of what you’ve been taught and see the Force as it is.”

“It is you who are blind, Revan! I will defeat you! The dark side has given me power you can no longer even imagine!”

She sighed, deactivating her lightsabers, hanging them on her belt, and holding her hands out to her sides. “Then strike me down. Right here. Look me in the eye and deal the killing blow. I won’t defend myself.”

Bastila’s eyes narrowed. “What type of trick is this?”

“You’re not _evil,_ Bastila,” she said firmly. “I see in you the potential to know the Force as I know it. And you can see it all and still be a decent fucking person, which I know you are. The friend I knew wouldn’t kill a defenseless opponent. Not in cold blood.”

“You don’t know me,” she snarled. “You place too much faith in what I used to be, and for that you shall pay.”

Revan blocked the strike, drawing one of her sabers in a flash. Well that hadn’t worked. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She _would_ do this. Bastila could be saved and damn it all, Revan was going to save her.

She wasn’t going to let her become the next Juhani.

She could do this. Bastila was weakening, contrary to what she claimed. Revan could feel it. All she needed was to keep fighting, look for a weakness in her defenses, and…

_There._ She struck, knocking aside Bastila’s lightsaber with one of her weapons and seizing it by the hilt with her other hand. They grappled for it for a moment, but Bastila relied too heavily on the Force, and Revan was stronger.

Bastila fell to her knees, exhausted, eyes fixed on Revan who was still holding two lightsabers. “How is this possible?” she gasped. “You have rejected the dark side! You are a weak and pathetic servant of the light! How can you still stand against me? Why can’t I defeat you?”

Revan tossed Bastila’s lightsaber aside, deactivating her own and crouching so she was on a level with the fallen Jedi. “Because it’s _not that simple,_ ” she said. “Because I see the Force as all-encompassing, I draw from the strengths of both Jedi and Sith. Because you’re so stuck in the binary you’ve always been taught that you refuse to see the truth. The dark side is not inherently stronger than the light. Nor is the light stronger than the dark. True strength comes from balance.”

Bastila held her gaze, searching. “Yes,” she relented at last. “I see you speak the truth. I am no match for you.” She closed her eyes. “Please. I know I have no right to ask it of you, but… for the sake of the friendship we once shared, do not make me suffer. End my life quickly. There is no other way.”

She smiled softly, and for a moment she was just Wren, the smuggler-turned-Jedi who felt too much and had held a grudge against this girl for far too long. She reached out and grasped Bastila by the shoulder. “Bastila. I’ve just spent Force knows how long trying to convince you everything’s not black and white. Do you really think I’m going to buy ‘there’s no other way’?”

She drew a shaky breath, looking so _lost_ that Wren almost wanted to hug her. She wasn’t entirely sure it would be welcome, though, so she stayed still. “What other choice do you have? I have fallen to the dark side! I am the apprentice to the Dark Lord himself, you cannot let me live!”

Wren just kept looking at her sadly. “Is that the Jedi talking?”

“I—” Bastila seemed at a loss for words.

“You know the truth, Bastila. The only reason they didn’t kill me after Malak’s attack was because I was their last hope for survival. If one of them was here, I have no doubt they’d do as you say.” Bastila’s eyes widened slightly, but Wren wasn’t done. “I’m not a Jedi, Bastila,” she said quietly. “And you can say whatever else you like about me, but I don’t kill my friends.” She thought of Malak, and a fresh wave of sadness swept through her as her face fell. “Unless they’ve fallen beyond help,” she added quietly, more for her own benefit than Bastila’s. But she pushed the thought aside. Bastila was more important right now. “I was redeemed. All it takes, shifting between light and dark, is a change in priorities. You can do that, Bastila. I know you can.”

She shook her head. “I am not strong enough, Revan. Wren. There is too much anger inside me now, too much hatred and fear. I can no longer find peace in the Force.”

Wren couldn’t stop herself. Tightening her grip on Bastila’s arm, she pulled her forward, wrapping her arms around her a little awkwardly as they both landed on their knees. “There is emotion, and yet there is peace,” she began quietly. “There is ignorance, yet there is knowledge. There is passion, yet there is serenity. There is chaos, yet there is harmony. And still, there is no death, there is only the Force.”

Bastila shook slightly in her arms. “You… you speak the truth,” she said quietly. “I… there is comfort in the familiar words, even more so as you have altered them. I feel… less like a failure.” She took a deep, shaking breath. “Thank you, Revan. I am ready to face my fate now.”

Wren just tightened her arms around her. “And how many times have I told you, I’m not going to kill you. I need your help.” She pulled back, grasping Bastila by both shoulders, noting the tears pooling in her eyes and beginning to streak silently down her face, but not saying anything. “Help me stop Malak. Help the Republic destroy the Star Forge. I… for a moment, I thought I could use it to protect the galaxy, but… I don’t think anyone can be trusted with it. Not even me. It’s… powerful.”

Bastila nodded slowly. “Yes. I could join you in your battle against the Dark Lord. That alone would not make up for what I have done, yet… it would be a step in the right direction. But how would you be able to trust me? How do you know I wouldn’t turn on you when you face Darth Malak? How do you know the dark side wouldn’t make me betray you again?”

Wren took her face in her hands, brushing away the tears with her thumbs, and looked her directly in the eye. “I trust you, Bastila. And… unless I’ve got you all wrong, that’s what you need most right about now.”

Bastila closed her eyes. “You’re right. The dark side has not wholly consumed me. I cannot raise my blade against you, Wren. Not now.”

Wren squeezed her shoulder. “I know.”

“I should remain here, though,” Bastila added. “I should use my battle meditation to aid the Republic fleet. Facing Malak… is your fight. It always has been.”

Wren stood, helping Bastila to her feet. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said simply.

“Thank you,” Bastila said. “Good luck. May the Force be with you.”


	31. Two Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going camping for a few days, and I’ve decided that rather than making y’all wait for the end I’ll just give you the last couple chapters now. This one in particular is a favorite of mine. :)

She knew almost instinctively where she was going. Malak would be in the heart of the factory, where he would be unleashing the full might of the Star Forge against her and the Republic.

He was still underestimating her.

She found him sooner than expected, however. Another deserted chamber, with some mechanisms or other lining its walls, ended in a door to an elevator. Before that, however, stood Malak.

He wasn’t alone. Two Jedi were behind him, grasping at their throats, trying to relieve the pressure he was casually applying with, it seemed, barely any effort on his part.

But as Revan stepped into his view, he tired of his game, threw his lightsaber to impale one, and shocked the other to death.

“Revan,” he greeted.

“Malak,” she returned.

She remembered more clearly now—remembered him as a boy on Dantooine, remembered all the times they and their younger friend had chased each other through the ruins in the grove no matter how often the Jedi forbid it. She remembered tackling him to the ground with the help of the Force, helping him up, the crooked grins on both their faces.

She remembered him standing steadfastly at her side as she disobeyed the Council to go to war.

“I tire of this game, Revan. You have been a thorn in my side from the moment I seized the mantle of Dark Lord from your feeble grasp. You made a mistake coming here. The Star Forge fuels my command of the dark side. You are no match for me here. And this time you will not escape!”

She cocked her head to one side. “Funny. I thought you’d be all over the drama of fighting me in the factory. Got impatient?”

He snorted. “Hardly. The Star Forge is greater than you could possibly imagine!”

She shook her head slowly, sadly. “No. I knew. I chose to use it as I did. And you… let it overcome you.” She took a step closer. “Let me help you, Malak.” She knew already that it was fruitless, but she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t try, with more and more of her memories returning. “Let the Star Forge go. Surrender and you will be shown mercy.”

She could practically hear the sneer in his voice. “Is that what you call it? You think stripping away your power and identity was an act of _mercy,_ Revan?”

Her mouth fell open. He was angry. He was _furious._ But not at her.

“No,” she said forcefully. “No, that was an act of desperation. One I will never forgive. But this isn’t about me. You can save yourself, Malak. Let go of the dark side, and see the Force for what it is.”

“Spoken like a true slave of the Jedi Code,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Save your preaching, Revan. I will have none of it. You are an insignificant _speck_ beneath my notice. I have surpassed you in every way and accomplished what you never could. I have unleashed the full potential of this Rakatan factory. You had no idea of the power within this place. Its very walls are alive with dark side energies. And now, my old master, I will let the Star Forge itself destroy you!” And he fled.

She sighed. “Drama queen.”

The generators around the edges of the room came to life, beginning to churn out—

She sighed again. _“More_ droids, Malak? _Really?_ ”

 __________________

She hadn’t quite remembered what the factory interior looked like—just that it would appeal to Malak’s desire for a dramatic final confrontation.

It certainly was all that. But she barely even registered the impressive windows, the space battle outside, the scattered stasis pods.

Malak was standing with his back to her, but he knew she was there. She could feel it.

“Well done, Revan,” he said as she approached, turning almost casually to face her. “I was certain the defenses of the Star Forge would destroy you. But I see there is more of your old self in you than I expected.”

Did that make things better for him, or worse? Would it have been easier to kill her if he thought Revan dead and buried? Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

“You are stronger than I thought. Stronger than you ever were during your reign as the Dark Lord. I did not think that was possible.”

She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t have. You see the Force as Bastila did. As the Jedi do. Dark or light. I am both.”

He scoffed. “Foolish words. The darkness and the light wage a constant war within you. The balance is tipped one way now, but it could easily be tipped back. Savior, conqueror, hero, villain: you are all things, Revan, and yet you are nothing. In the end, you belong to neither the light nor the darkness. You will forever stand alone.”

“I’m okay with that.” She thought of her friends, of Mission, Bastila, Canderous, Zaalbar. Of Carth. He was right, of course. None of them could ever truly understand what she’d faced to bring her here. And if one thing was certain, it was this: none of them would understand the ache of nostalgia and loneliness that flared up in her as she thought of killing Malak. “I can handle alone. But… that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to save you. All you have to do is listen to me.”

He shook his head, and for a moment she thought she saw a flash of something—regret? Or was she still projecting her feelings onto her old friend?—in his eyes. But as he reached for his lightsaber it was gone again. “No, Revan. Fate and destiny have conspired to keep you alive despite my best efforts. We have been inexorably pushed toward this final confrontation. A confrontation that can only end in death: yours or mine.” He drew his lightsaber, brandishing it. “Once again we will face each other in single combat, and the victor will decide the fate of the galaxy!” He made a ‘come and get me’ gesture and took a step back, waiting for her to make the first attack.

She drew her weapons. “Show-off,” she said, but her tone was almost fond.

She didn’t attack, though. She circled, watching him, as he turned in place, watching her. With one hand, she activated her energy shield, still circling, never taking her eyes off him. With a wave of the same hand, she raised a Force shield, protecting herself from all but the strongest Force attacks.

It was time to end this.

She struck out at Malak—

_—they were children, dueling in the Enclave with practice sabers, laughing as Master Vrook looked on disapprovingly—_

—he parried and struck back—

_—they were Knights, and they sparred silently. Revan was only half there, her mind worlds away as the Republic burned and the Jedi stood by—_

—and the duel for the galaxy had begun.

He’d always been the one with a flair for the dramatic, but she had her moments too.

_He knelt at her feet and he’d destroyed a planet, he’d rained untold destruction down on the innocents of Telos, she was losing him, day by day she could feel him slipping further from her, further from their purpose, further, further into the darkness she’d tried and failed to protect him from—_

—Malak took a hit from her saber and broke away from the battle, approaching instead one of the stasis pods that until now she’d hardly paid attention to. “You continue to amaze me, Revan. If only you had been the one to uncover the true power of the Star Forge, you would have become truly invincible. But you were a fool. All you saw was an enormous factory, all you ever imagined was an infinite fleet rolling forth to crush the Republic. You were blind, Revan. Blind and stupid.”

She snorted. “Is stupid really the best you can do? You came up with better insults than that when we were Padawans. Or are you too distracted by the fact that I’m winning? You know, as usual.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Star Forge is more than just a space station. In some ways it is like a living creature. It _hungers,_ and it can feed on the dark side that is within all of us. Look around you, Revan. See the bodies? You should recognize them from the Academy. These are Jedi who fell when I attacked Dantooine. For all intents and purposes dead, except for one difference. I have not let them become one with the Force. Instead, I have brought them here. The Star Forge corrupts what remains of their power and transfers the dark taint to me.” He thrust out a hand toward the nearest Jedi, and she could _see_ the life draining out of the suspended form—already so near death, now nothing more than a shriveled husk as Malak’s strength returned to him.

Her gaze darted around the room—eight pods. Eight Jedi, trapped against their will, even more consumed by the darkness of the Forge than Malak had been. Eight potential sources of strength. And Force knew if they were aware of what had happened to them. If their consciousnesses were still in their bodies…

She met Malak’s eyes again—triumphant, not a shred of remorse within them—and she couldn’t let him do this.

“I guess you did manage to start using that strategic head of yours after all,” she said. “Destroying Taris was clumsy, but this… I almost have to admire the depravity.” And she held out her hand toward the nearest Jedi, lightning streaking from her fingers at the pod.

It shattered, and the Jedi fell to the floor, the glow of hoarded power slowly fading from his crumpled form. _Find peace,_ she thought to herself.

Malak’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She destroyed another pod, never breaking eye contact. “What? Make this a fair fight? Wouldn’t dream of it. No, for a fair fight I’d have to have one hand and the Force tied behind my back. But level the playing field? You tried to tip the scale to favor you. I found a way to tip it back. I’d have to be… hm, how did you put it? Ah, _stupid_ , not to take advantage of it.”

And she ran. She ran to all the corners of the room, risking a glance or two at the space battle (it was going better, Bastila’s battle meditation was working) and destroying every single one of those pods. Malak followed, trying to catch up with her, to stop her, sometimes shooting lightning at her. Sometimes it hit, sometimes it didn’t, but she shook it off, renewing her Force shield.

With the pods destroyed, they stood back where they’d started. In the center, circling.

Malak struck first this time—

_—they fought back to back on Dxun; Mandalorian reinforcements kept coming, there seemed no end to them, but the two of them together could not be stopped. Anika was off somewhere doing what she did best—leading—but it had been far too long since she got her hands dirty, and their help was needed here. He deflected blaster fire, she raised a shield to protect them from a flamethrower, both cut down their opponents like there was no tomorrow, and there was no feeling like it in the universe—_

—and she caught his blade between both of hers, pushing back with all her strength, holding him at bay long enough to position her feet to dance out of his way as he stumbled past her. She jumped after him, pressing the advantage, but he raised his saber to deflect her attack at the last moment—

_—they dueled with everything they had, and she had no doubt she’d defeat him but damn if he wasn’t trying his hardest. The figure in the shadows watched, and for a moment she thought she heard a dark, pleased chuckle—_

—she stumbled for a moment, reeling from the unfamiliar memory, recovering herself just in time to defend from his attack. _What was that?_

Eyes still wide, she leaped back into battle, pushing him back yet again, but she had to know. “The man in the shadows,” she said. “Who was he?”

Malak’s look of confusion shifted to dawning comprehension. “Your memories,” he said.

She nodded, not stopping her attack. “They’re returning,” she panted. “Slowly. I don’t think I’ll ever remember everything, but this—it’s important. I can feel it. Please.”

Malak narrowed his eyes. “He was a threat,” he snapped. “One too great for either of us to confront at the time. But now, with the power of the Star Forge behind me, he cannot stand against me!”

“You’re still assuming you’ll defeat me.” She blew her bangs out of her face. “That’s what changed us, isn’t it? When we followed the Mandalorians into the Unknown Regions. He did something to us, or—or we surrendered to buy time, or—”

“It no longer matters.” Malak shoved her away with all his strength, which was considerable. “I do not serve him. And you, Revan, have never served anyone.”

She stopped. The circling resumed, but now… she wanted this even less than she had before. “I’m sorry, Malak,” she said quietly. “I… I don’t remember enough to know for sure, but… you would have followed me into hell itself. That much I know. And… I think maybe you did. I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrowed again. “You’ve gone soft, Revan.”

“No. But remembering all at once does tend to… mix things up a little. I remember you being my best friend with as much clarity as I remember you stabbing me in the back. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. But if you wanted to be saved you’d have listened by now.”

And she struck. He was prepared, she never expected anything less, but this time… he wasn’t quite prepared _enough._ Her offhand saber pierced him through the gut, and he fell, his lightsaber dropping from his hand and rolling across the floor.

She dropped her own weapons as well, falling to her knees at his side as he struggled for his last breaths.

“Im… impossible. I… cannot be beaten. I am the Dark Lord of the Sith.” Force help her, he sounded so _vulnerable._ He sounded almost like the boy she’d once known, even through the metallic edge in his voice.

She hovered on the edge of touching him, knowing that they weren’t what they had been, but at the same time desperately wanting him to have something familiar to hold onto as he died. “That’s the way of the dark side, Malak,” she said, and her voice was small, and a little higher than usual, and fuck, she felt _powerless,_ the Dark Lord Revan, Savior of the Galaxy, kneeling beside her dying friend. “All things end in death.”

He met her eyes, and there was no more malice in his gaze. For a moment… she almost thought he truly saw her, that he looked at her and saw _Revan,_ instead of whatever the Jedi had tried to make her. “Still…” he coughed. “Still spouting the wisdom of the Jedi, I see. Perhaps there is more truth to their Code… than I ever believed.”

“There’s truth in both Codes, Malak. Just not the whole truth.”

She thought he might have smiled, then. She couldn’t tell, of course, but maybe… “I… I cannot help but wonder, Revan. What would have happened had our positions been reversed? What if fate had decreed I would be captured by the Jedi? Could I have returned from the darkness, as you did?” He coughed again, his breaths growing shorter with each passing moment. “If you had not led me down the dark path in the first place... what destiny would I have... found?”

She shifted on the ground, sitting cross-legged, and pulled his dying form into her lap. He didn’t resist. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I led you down this path. I knew you’d follow me anywhere, even into the dark, and I used it against you. I’m sorry.” She took a breath, released it. “But you chose to continue along it. You chose to embrace the dark side.”

His eyes closed. “I suppose… I suppose you speak the truth. I alone must… accept responsibility for my fate. I wanted to be master of the Sith and ruler of the galaxy.” He opened his eyes again, with apparent effort, meeting her gaze one last time. All that she saw left in his eyes was pain. “But that destiny was not mine, Revan. It might have been yours… perhaps… but never mine. And in the end… as the darkness takes me… I am nothing.”

She both saw and felt the last of his life fade from his body, and finally she let the tears flow, cradling his head in her lap, remembering with every moment a past that could never return, grasping at memories that would never be whole again.

Had the factory not shaken with the force of the assault on the Star Forge, she might never have left his side. As it was, she had a duty. She took his lightsaber, laid him to rest on the ground where he’d fallen, and left him behind, brushing the tears from her face.

She could mourn later. For now, she had to survive.

 _________________

Bastila and Carth were waiting when she entered the hangar. Carth ran to her, pulling her into his arms, and she almost broke down again right there.

She was the only one left in the galaxy who would mourn him.

“You're all right,” Carth said, releasing her. “What happened?”

She looked between the two of them, her friend and the man she loved, and she shook her head. “I… I couldn’t save him…” she said quietly.

“I don’t think anyone actually expected that he could be redeemed,” Bastila pointed out. “I’m surprised you would even think of trying.”

Revan just met her eyes sadly. “He was my friend, Bastila. I _had_ to try.”

Bastila took in this information and seemed to resign herself to never understanding. “There’s no time to celebrate just yet. I was able to use my battle meditation to allow the Republic forces to break through the Sith fleet. The capital ships are in bombardment range.”

Carth squeezed her arm, seeming to sense her sadness, trying to offer comfort without words. “And that means we need to get out of here right now before this entire complex comes down around our ears. Come on, beautiful. Everyone else is already on the ship. Let’s move.”


	32. Two Roads Diverged

Jedi intermingled with Republic soldiers. Assault droids had been reprogrammed to serve the drinks that someone on the fleet had pulled out of nowhere. (HK had escaped that particular fate by pointing out that he knew at least twelve different ways in which the celebration could end in a large explosion or some other catastrophe).

The hero of the hour, however, was conspicuously absent. Let them have their celebration. The galaxy had just witnessed the destruction of the greatest tyrant since… well, her. But she…

She had just lost her best friend. She had just _killed_ her best friend.

She kept thinking it. Over and over. Somehow… she’d thought it might get easier. That she’d get used to the idea. But she couldn’t. Not when everything she was was still in question. When everything she remembered and kept remembering only served to heighten her grief.

She hugged her knees, perched on top of a boulder on the beach where the _Hawk_ had initially crashed, sheltered from prying eyes by the cliff. The water flowed up and around her chosen perch, advancing and receding, advancing and receding. It was almost hypnotic, allowing her to drift farther into the depths of her consciousness, back into her memories…

_“We’re really doing this, huh?”_

_She turned back from the loading ramp of the shuttle they were… borrowing. Getting out wouldn’t be a problem. If they ever wanted to come_ _back_ _… that would be a different matter entirely. “Having second thoughts, Anika?”_

_Anika shook her head. “I’ve seen it. What they’re doing. They have to be stopped.” She walked up to the shuttle ramp, right up to where Revan was standing. “Just… be careful, Revan. I have a bad feeling.”_

_If the situation was less dire, she might have cracked a joke, but Anika looked more serious than Revan had ever seen her. “Any details?”_

_She shook her head. “No. Just… this, right now, is the end of the galaxy as we know it. Remember that.”_

_Revan snorted softly, took her friend by the arm. “You know, that could be a good thing.”_

_Anika gave her a dubious look. “Since when has the galaxy ever changed for the better on its own?”_

_Revan inclined her head. “You have a point. Still. First time for everything, right? Let’s get out before Master Vrook wakes up at the buttcrack of dawn to chew us out, yeah?”_

A footstep landing in the water jolted her from the memory. “Revan?”

She didn’t turn. “I’m here, Bastila.”

Wordlessly, Bastila climbed up onto an adjacent boulder, looking sideways at her. “Are you all right?”

Revan glanced her way. “You want the whole story?”

Bastila nodded.

“My memories are coming back,” she sighed. “Bits and fragments, some good, some bad, none entirely complete. I don’t think I’ll ever remember everything. And… training with him as Padawans is just as clear a memory as finding the Star Forge the first time. Him following me to war and hell is just as clear as him stabbing me in the back. I… I miss him, Bastila. Who he was, who _we_ were. I don’t think there’s anyone left alive who would, except…” She looked over again. “Do… have you heard the name Anika Surik?”

Bastila nodded. “I remember you leaving for the Mandalorian Wars. She was the only one who ever came back.” She sighed. “Her trial was… the Masters tried to keep it quiet, but it was the latest Jedi gossip. It was bound to get out somehow. She was asked to surrender her lightsaber. She drew it, stabbed it into the center stone, and walked out. No Jedi that I know of has seen her since.”

“She could be alive?”

Bastila gave her a discerning look. “Yes, I suppose so, but… what are you really after, Revan? Is trying to reclaim the past really going to help you?”

“I’m not—”

Bastila’s skeptical look intensified.

Revan sighed. “All right, maybe I am. Is that so hard to understand? Maybe I just want someone who can make sense of what I’m remembering, and from what I do remember there are only two people who can do that and I just killed one of them.”

Bastila was silent for several long moments, her gaze fixed on the water and somewhere far away. “I think…” she began at last. “I think I can never truly understand what you’re feeling. Nevertheless, if you were to ask for my advice, I would say… embrace the future, rather than grasping for a broken past.”

Revan let out a small breath. “Have you always been like this, or did the dark side change you?”

“A little of both, I expect.” Bastila wasn’t looking at her.

“Are you still afraid? Of what you were?”

Her eyes fell closed. “Yes,” she whispered. “Somehow… it is liberating to admit it.”

“You know better than anyone I don’t have all the answers. I guess… in the end, the only one who can decide if you’re worth saving is you.” Bastila looked up, brow furrowed, but Revan continued. “I can tell you that you are, I can drag you back from the dark side kicking and screaming, but in the end… it’s your choice. I guided Malak to the path, but he chose to follow it. He showed you the path, I showed you the alternative.” She sighed. “I don’t know if I’m making sense. I guess what I’m trying to say is… you don’t have to make up for anything. If that was how everything worked, what chance would I have? You just… have to acknowledge you were wrong and try to do better. That’s all.”

“And the Jedi?”

“Fuck the Jedi,” she sighed. “But if it means that much to you… they won’t question you. They wanted Juhani back, they’ll want you back. The only one they won’t take back with open arms is me.”

Bastila frowned. “Why not?”

She pinched her lips together in a mockery of a smile, her expression almost pitying. “You know what they did to me, Bastila. And so do I. They hoped they could keep the truth from me long enough to point me at Malak and pull the trigger, and it worked to an extent, but now I’ve survived. I’m sure the Republic’s already made me their poster child for hero of the day, so they can’t kill me, even if they’d consider doing something that straightforward. I’m back to being the wild card and the Jedi’s biggest problem.”

“What makes you think they won’t accept you back into the Order?”

Revan laughed. “Bastila. How long have you known me? Look me in the eye and tell me you can envision me as a fully legitimate Jedi.”

Bastila eyed her thoughtfully for a moment before shaking her head. “You never even liked the Jedi. You’d hate every second you spent there.”

“Exactly. What’s a Jedi Master to do, then? Keep me prisoner? Wipe my mind again? Let me go?” She snorted. “They’d never let me go.”

Bastila’s gaze drifted back to the ocean. “Surely they could be convinced. Or…” she looked back to Revan. “I suppose you could blackmail them.”

Revan blinked, hard, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Am I dreaming? Is the paragon of virtue Bastila Shan actually suggesting _blackmail?”_

Bastila’s lips twisted like she was trying not to smile. “I’ll blame my recent brush with the dark side.”

“Well then, Dark Bastila, don’t hold back now. What sort of blackmail did you have in mind?”

 _____________________

The award ceremony was set for an hour before sunset.

Naturally, she didn’t actually _want_ anything other than her freedom, but for the sake of the Republic and their apparent need for saviors, she’d agreed to it.

The plan needed to be enacted before then. Because if she was right, the Jedi (and Vandar in particular) would walk right into everything, announce to the galaxy that Revan had been redeemed and saved the day, and not give a moment’s thought to the backlash.

Typical Jedi. They probably thought the galaxy would welcome her as their hero with open arms.

She knew better. If Carth (and hell, even _Mission_ had had a solid two minutes of shock before she moved past it) had had trouble dealing with it—Carth, who knew her better than anyone, who, by his own admission, had loved her even then—random civilians would never accept it. She would always be Revan the monster, Revan the Dark Lord, Revan who somehow always managed to get the blame for Telos even though that had been all Malak.

So she took a deep breath, finished shaking the hands of a few more people who wanted to congratulate her on her great victory, and confronted Vandar herself. (Bastila was lurking nearby. Just in case.)

Up close, and not over a holo, she could see that the attack on Dantooine had left its marks. Burns were still healing all across one side of his face, and she suspected that there was more she couldn’t see.

He didn’t show it, though. He turned to her, managed a smile, and greeted her formally. “Padawan.”

“I do still have a name,” she reminded him. “More than one now, actually.” She smiled, but it felt like a lie, like poison was leaking from between her teeth, choking her.

He nodded. “Which would you prefer?”

She thought for a moment. “I’ll answer to either. Wren Grua will serve for the time being, though.”

He nodded again, accepting. “Then congratulations, Padawan Grua. Your actions will not be forgotten.”

“I should hope not,” she said, one hand unconsciously fidgeting with the hem of her robe as they danced around the real topic. She’d left Revan’s robes on the ship, opting instead for a plain Jedi robe. It had seemed a bit safer, but she felt… uncomfortable. Like she was wearing someone else’s skin. Both she and Revan, it seemed, preferred to be in armor.

Vandar eyed her cautiously for a moment. “We recognize, of course, that you were previously a Knight of our Order. However, given your… history, and the loss of your memory, the Council has decreed that you shall maintain your rank of Padawan until such time as you pass your trials again.”

_There it is._ “I’m not going back, Master Vandar.”

He blinked at her slowly, and she began reviewing all the points she and Bastila had come up with. (For a moment, sitting there on the beach, conspiring against the Jedi, it had been almost like having her best friend back. But Bastila was right, she decided. She needed to embrace the future. And so, on that beach, she and her best friend conspired to blackmail the Jedi.) “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not returning to the Jedi.” She couldn’t say it any plainer than that.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly—suspicion or simple caution, she wasn’t sure. “If not to return to the Jedi, what are your intentions?”

She took a deep breath. “To live,” she said simply. He just looked at her, clearly waiting for her to elaborate, so she continued. “My identity was taken from me, my entire _being_ stripped, and I cannot go back to the people who did that to me. The one gift you gave me was another life. I am Wren Grua. And she’s no Jedi.”

“You are… proposing… that we let you go.”

She blew out a breath through her nostrils. “Yes. Will that be a problem?” He opened his mouth to answer, but she didn’t let him. She’d spent far too long perfecting her side of the argument. “If so, let me remind you of a few things. Firstly, Revan is dead. She’ll never return as she was. Secondly, should you choose not to accept Revan’s death and to… I don’t know, bring her back for trial or imprisonment for her crimes, you will also be guilty of the destruction of her memories and her identity, and of brainwashing her to clean up _your_ mess. I’d say that constitutes a war crime, wouldn’t you?” She smiled sweetly. “And thirdly, should you make that decision, and should the galaxy at large learn the truth, there will be repercussions. Revan is hated and feared. Some Jedi saying that she’s returned from the dark side and defeated Malak isn’t going to change that. So let me be some miracle Padawan who rose to greatness through her strong connection with the Force. Or come up with a story on your own, if you want—my backstory could have used some work, but I suppose you were probably pressed for time. But whatever speech you were planning about Revan’s redemption and return? Nix it. Right now. Revan is dead. And you are her murderers.”

Vandar was silent for a long time, but he never broke eye contact, even with the unveiled glare Revan was sending his way. At last he nodded slowly, though he didn’t look happy about it. “Very well. If it is your wish to return to the life you lived before you became a Jedi, the Council will not stop you. A warning, however: should there be any indication that you are straying from your chosen path, we shall be forced to intervene.”

Wren glanced to one side and saw Carth, watching them with a look of concern on his face. She gave him a small smile, and his face cleared, relief sweeping across his features.

She turned back to Vandar. “Understood. But personally… I doubt it’ll be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! This has been two years in the making, it took me most of that to even consider posting, but it’s been so worth it. Thank you all for commenting and showing your support!  
> I have considered writing a bit of an epilogue too, but that has yet to be done—if there’s interest I’ll make it a priority. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed!


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